Margaret and Morgan Wood: Year One
by TNGoH
Summary: Morgan and Margaret Wood are identical twins, who find out their witches. During their first year of Hogwarts, twins Margaret and Morgan Wood learn all about magic and what it means to oppose dangerous people. FULL SUMMARY INSIDE
1. Disclaimer

NOTES: (DISCLAIMER AND SUMMARY after notes)

This fanfic is completely AU (Author's Universe or Alternate Universe). I got this idea pre- _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _with some pre- _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ and some pre- _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _ideas. There are also post books 5 and 6 ideas. Voldemort is gone. Harry is alive; he is teaching at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters have all either died or are in Azkaban Prison. Severus Snape is the Deputy Headmaster, he did not kill anyone of great significance. Albus Dumbledore is alive and retired from Hogwarts. He serves as a school governor. Minerva McGonagall is now Headmistress. Draco Malfoy is not and was not a Death Eater. He teaches a new class at Hogwarts. Sirius Black never went behind the veil. He teaches a new class at Hogwarts. Remus Lupin is back at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.

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DISCLAIMER: (SUMMARY is after disclaimer)

All characters in this story are property of this fan fiction author (TNGoH), other, familiar characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, unless otherwise noted. Any class, spell, charm, potion (draft or draught), creature, product, or brand name mentioned in any portion of this story that can be found in any Harry Potter book or Harry Potter related books is not the property of this author, and the author will not claim them as her own.

The author does not own any of the places that can be found in any Harry Potter book or related book.

Anything in this story that is noted as the author's property (such as people, places, classes, spell work, ideas, concepts, fantasical creatures, etc.) must have the permission of the author to be used anywhere else.

PLEASE NOTE: The author (TNGoH) is not taking the responsibility for any dolt who fancies themselves a member of the author's imaginary world. She is also not responsible if said dolt or anyone, for that matter, tries to find any person, place, or thing mentioned, or tries to perform any spells, charms or fly (in any way, shape or form) or tries to create any potion (draft or draught) and results in being killed, hospitalized, wounded, harmed, or punished.

Any resemblance of fictional people, places, things, and/or situations to actual people, places, things, and/or situations are purely coincidence. No harm or offense is meant by this story in any way, shape or form.

The author is not being paid for this story in any way, shape or form. And because she has written the above disclaimer, she doesn't expect any trouble such as angry persons, lawyers, or people looking to sue. So don't even try.

ENJOY,

**T**he **N**ext **G**eneration **o**f **H**ogwarts

P.S.: Rating may be subject to change.

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SUMMARY:

Morgan and Margaret Wood are identical twins, who find out their witches. During their first year of Hogwarts they learn all about magic and what it means to be a muggleborn in a Wizarding world. They also become very close friends with the children of some of JK Rowling's characters.

Margaret, the elder, is studious, serious and quite the overachiever. Everything she does must be done early on and perfectly. She tries to make it a point to not step on anyone's toes, but doesn't realize that her very presence is offensive to some and that who she is and what she believes goes against the ideals of a very powerful and dangerous man.

Morgan is adventurous, bold and mischievous, and she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. She wants to know how to do absolutely everything, especially fly. She doesn't leave a doubt in anyone's mind that she sticks to what she believes in, no matter who or what decides to make it hard for her.

The past several years have been remarkably peaceful in the Wizarding world. Recently, however, there have been reports of a new evil. His name is Thaddeus Skinner. He and his followers, the Peau Infini, find themselves opposing the beliefs of the majority of people who confront them. They believe that witches and wizards whose blood is less than half pure might be trying to take over the world. That wouldn't be so bad, if Thad and his pals weren't convinced they were going to kill everyone whose blood was purer in their attempt. First they threaten, then they scare, and last, they take measures that are devastatingly grotesque.

Author owns; plus any relations to them.


	2. Strange Things Are Happening

Read the previous chapter for the notes, disclaimer and summary.

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**Words: **4,347 words **Pages: **16

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**Chapter 1: Strange Things Are Happening**

_July 10th_

_Knock. Knock._

"Morgan? Can you get the door, please," Betsy Wood called to her daughter from her spot near the stove in the kitchen. She went back to the eggs in the frying pan, making breakfast, early this Saturday morning. Betsy strained her ears, waiting to hear the front door click open and the murmuring of voices that would let her know Morgan had obeyed. She heard nothing, not even a creak from the couch.

Betsy swore that it was Morgan that she had seen up and about, just an hour ago. How awful it would be if she had mistaken the twins after eleven years without a slip-up? Morgan would be furious for being thought to be her sister. Margaret would more likely be sad at the idea, rather than too terribly angry. It wouldn't matter to either of them that it would be an honest mistake. The girls were, after all, identical twins. They were both tall and thin; though Morgan was more athletic, like their father, Winston. They had large, loose, robust chestnut curls that fell just below their shoulder blades. They had Betsy's eyes; round and a deep brown. Tan freckles gathered in bunches just around their small, straight noses. It was nearly impossible to tell who was who, unless you managed to get close enough to see a short, thin scar resting on Margaret's right cheek. The girls even sounded remarkably alike. All the same, Betsy hoped that she hadn't called Margaret by the wrong name.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Betsy moved to the kitchen doorway, peering out into the living room. It was definitely Morgan; Margaret wouldn't be sulking on the couch due to just a little bit of rain. Morgan had had plans this morning; wanting to go out in the tiny backyard to kick her soccer ball up against the side of the house. Betsy wouldn't let her out this early, let alone in the rain.

"Morgan," Her mother hissed. The girl turned to her head a bit to the side, looking at her mother, reluctantly.

"Please, get the door," She said. Morgan turned towards the door, glaring at the offending object. She stood up and marched, loudly, over to it. She heard her mother sigh, then the sound of the sizzling eggs in the frying pan.

Morgan stared at the painted white door, willing it to open. She narrowed her dark eyes at it, thinking hard about it opening. Nothing happened. She sighed. She could have sworn when she was younger it had worked once, but every time she tried after that first time, it had failed. Morgan reached for the tarnished knob, and turned the cool metal in her right hand.

Behind the door, stood a woman wearing an unusual, long coat; it looked like an expensive, bright blue bathrobe. The woman's back was to her. It looked as if she had been about to leave. The woman turned at the sound of the door having been opened. She shoved a skinny, ornate stick quickly into the many folds of her coat. She gave Morgan a friendly, apprehensive smile.

Morgan thought the lady was much prettier than anyone she had seen; except her mum, of course. This woman had bushy brown hair, and sparkling brown eyes, and across her nose were the tiniest smattering of freckles. Morgan gathered her manners, quickly. She stopped staring at the woman by blinking rapidly a few times, and throwing a smile up.

"Hello? May I help you," Morgan queried. The woman nodded.

"I was wondering if I could talk to your parents," She asked. Morgan decided her voice was nice; soft and welcoming. She could, however, imagine this lady becoming stern and bossy in and instant.

Hesitating only for a moment, Morgan pulled back the door, a silent way of asking the lady to enter, before turning into the living room. The woman followed her, closing the front door behind her. The living room was very cozy, small and intimate. There was one worn red couch, banked on either side of it were end redwood end tables. Across from the couch were two high back, red recliners. A redwood coffee table separated the recliners from the couch. All around the walls of the room paintings of meadows and mountains and there were family photos on shelves. The photos depicted the smiling Wood family through the years. There was Betsy and Winston's wedding day; a photo of Winston hugging Betsy around her pregnant middle, a newborn photo of the twins (pink faced and sleeping), photos of the twins growing up and several of the whole family dressed immaculately and smiling widely at the camera.

"Mum," Morgan yelled. She thought she saw the lady wince, before her mother's head popped into the kitchen doorway, again. Her mother stared at Morgan and the strange lady, a bit surprised, before masking it, quickly. Betsy stepped into the living room. She was wringing a navy dish towel in her hands.

"Morgan, could you watch the eggs for me, please," Betsy asked. Morgan groaned and sighed dramatically. Her whole body nearly deflated in protest.

"Mm-um, can't you make Margaret do it," She whined, not caring whether or not they had a guest. Morgan hated watching the eggs; she hated watching anything that didn't move very fast. If it wasn't zooming by, preferably on the soccer pitch, she wasn't very interested in even pretending to be interested. Her twin, Margaret, loved boring stuff. Margaret liked things that took a long while to do; school, reading, cooking. Watching the eggs would be just Margaret's speed.

"No, I very well cannot. We have a guest and it would be quite rude of me to holler up the stairs for your sister, or even your father as it were," Betsy placed her hands on her hips, pushing her pink, spotted apron out in the front. Morgan gave a sly smile.

"I'll do it," She answered. She took a considerable deep breath, preparing to bellow. Her mother slapped a hand over her mouth. Morgan looked up at her mum, gulping at the stern look she saw.

"You'll do no such thing. Now, scoot, go watch the eggs," Betsy said. She pushed Morgan gently toward the kitchen. Morgan went in, reluctantly, dragging her feet, to slow reaching the stove. She didn't want to admit it, but she really did want to hear what it was that the strange lady wanted. She stood in front of the stove, leaning to towards the door to hear what was happening in the living room.

"I'm sorry about that. Morgan can be a bit… rambunctious," Betsy explained to the stranger. The woman gave her a knowing, amused smile. Both adults stood staring at each other for a brief moment. They let the silence settle in.

"I know quite a few people like that; very wonderful even at their most rambunctious," The strange woman offered. Betsy gave a clam breath through her nose, pleased that this woman wasn't appalled by Morgan's ever present activity and loudness.

"I'm assuming that you wanted to speak with me," Betsy asked, a little nervously. It wasn't often that neighbors or anyone, really, came to visit her home. Often, it was because the other women in town thought it odd that her twins could be so different from each other. It was stupid, really, that how her children behaved determined how many people came to visit or asked them over. It was that and that strange things happened in their home on occasion. Sometimes the lights upstairs would flicker when the girls fought. Or cauliflower would disappear even though Betsy was positive that she had scooped out healthy portions onto dinner plates. Winston swore that when he had been called in to work last week, disappointing the twin's planned family weekend, his car had developed four flat tires, but just seconds before when he had gotten into the car, the tires were fine. It had been much too late in the day for anyone to pick him up, so he wound up not going in. Not that it mattered, Betsy found her neighbors to be perfectly boring. At least, she did when she learned they wanted nothing to do with her. This woman, now seated across from her, dressed in a fancy bathrobe, had her intrigued, and she hadn't even explained why she had come.

"Oh, yes," The woman seemed flustered, almost looking sheepish. It seemed she had forgotten why she was here. "I was really, rather hoping, I could speak with both you and your husband. What I have to say, may or may not be a bit hard to swallow." The woman appeared to be apologetic. Betsy frowned slightly, before nodding and rising. She walked out of the room. What on earth could be so important that the woman needed to speak to both Winston and her?

Morgan moved closer to the kitchen doorway, stealthily. She peered around the doorway, hoping to catch a view of what the strange woman was doing. The woman sat on the rust-colored couch, her brown eyes darting around, swiftly. Appearing to not have caught Morgan peeking, the woman took her stick out and tapped her hand. Immediately, she was clutching two square looking envelopes that came out of thin air. Morgan blinked furiously. She stared at the woman in absolute awe. A magician! She had to be.

"Morgan? What are you doing," Morgan turned from the door quickly, looking in the direction of the voice. Margaret had come into the kitchen from the front hall entrance. Morgan stared at her twin, unsure of whether or not to tell her sister what she had seen the woman doing. She turned back to the doorway, avoiding the question all together. The woman was now talking to both Betsy and Winston Wood. Betsy and Winston sat in the chairs, facing the couch.

Margaret stood behind her sister, leaning over her a bit, to peer around the doorway into the living room as well. They both curled a hand around the door jamb, steadying themselves in their perilous positions.

Margaret didn't see anything that could have possibly caught her twin's attention, but then again, Morgan was unpredictable. If she so desired Morgan would sit a top the washing machine during a load of laundry, just to be moving around. Margaret sometimes wondered if they were separated by four years instead of four minutes; like their parents had claimed.

"Who's that," Margaret asked of Morgan, speaking about the unfamiliar woman on their living room couch. Morgan shushed her, quietly. Apparently they were trying to listen in.

"Mister and Missus Wood, I'm not sure that you are aware, but-" The strange woman broke off. There was a moment of silence in which the woman appeared to be preparing her speech mentally. "I am a representative from a private school and have been dispatched to your home to inform you that your daughters, Margaret and Morgan Wood, have been accepted to our establishment. It would be our pleasure towelcome your daughters at the start of term, on September First."

The moments that followed were awkward, far more so than any other moments that the Wood family had ever experienced. Betsy was beaming at the strangely dressed woman; proud of her two girls. Winston seemed to be itching for his wallet; the Wood Family was well off enough, but to send both, Morgan and Margaret to private school would put a heavy strain on their pockets. Even so, he smiled in pride.

Margaret's mouth was opening and closing in astonishment, making her appear to be part fish. A private school was the happiest news she had ever hears. It would mean better classes, more learning and better universities, if she wanted. And she did. Margaret did want that, very much. Morgan seemed to be the only one not ultimately happy with the idea of private school.

Morgan knew of several girls who had gone to private school and when they came back for holidays, their noses seemed to be sniffing the air constantly. That was not something Morgan wanted in the least. Besides, who knew what kind of fun those private school snobs had. They probably didn't play soccer, or run around outside at all. They probably spent free time in the library or talking about silly things like clothes and boys. Morgan was not at all pleased with either of those prospects.

The woman on the couch shifted awkwardly, effectively drawing everyone's attentions back to her.

"There's more, I'm afraid," She said. Everyone stared at her, not to sure if they should be excited of not about the news of private school anymore. The woman didn't sound too happy.

"We're not exactly a normal private school. We do run for the gifted, but not gifted, meaning strictly limited to intelligence," She paused. The Wood family waited for the woman to drop the bomb. It was only natural that a bomb be dropped. They had the worst luck.

There was the time Morgan swore that the front door had opened by itself, while she had been waiting in the living room staring at it. The only evidence had been a large amount of leaves inside the doorway. It had taken nearly an hour to get them all back out. Margaret had been convinced that she had cut her finger on a sharp knife once, but there hadn't been any blood, except the strange, crimson droplets on the floor and knife blade. Odd things always happened in the Wood house.

"We teach classes like Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures," The woman said slowly, "We teach magic. Magical Spells with wands." The woman took out her ornate stick. Margaret's brow furrowed. What kind of school was this? Morgan's eyes went wide. She knew it! She knew that lady was a magician. Maybe she and Margaret could learn some decent card tricks, now

"Magical Creatures," Winston asked. He pushed his wallet to the back of his mind. There was no way he was sending the twins to a private school to learn how to make a rabbit appear in an empty hat.

"Yes. Uhm, creatures like skrewts, flobberworms, hippogriffs, dragons," The woman explained. She seemed uncomfortable talking about the idea. Morgan was beginning to like the idea of this school. She ignored Margaret's squeaks of protest as she marched into the living room.

"You mean real dragons," Morgan wanted to know. She moved to stand in front of the magician. Her brown eyes were wide with excitement. Her mother jumped, not realizing she had come into the room. Her dad frowned a little. It would be hard to stop Morgan's interest in this subject or any subject not taught in a public school. She would undoubtedly be upset when they told her she wasn't going.

"Ah, no. Well, yes, in a way. You probably won't see any dragons except in books, but you will be able to study them from, well, the books," The woman answered. Morgan backed up and sat on the arm of her father's chair. She was definitely going to this school. No one was going to keep her away. It sounded fantastic. Well, dragons sounded fantastic, anyway.

"That's just silly. Dragons aren't real," Margaret piped up from the kitchen doorway. Morgan turned to stare at her twin, horrified by Margaret's suggestion.

"Who says they're not real," Morgan demanded. Margaret rolled her eyes. Honestly, Morgan wasn't always in reality when it came to some things. Margaret marched into the living room, leaning against the back of her mother's seat.

"Have you ever seen a dragon," Margaret countered.

"Girls, I don't think this is the time," Betsy cut in. Both girls ignored her.

"No, I haven't. That doesn't mean they don't exist," Morgan narrowed her eyes at Margaret, challenging her sister.

"Yes, it does."

"Have you ever seen the wind? No. You only see leaves blowing and know it's there."

"Margaret! Morgan! Girls, stop it, this instant. We have a guest and you're being very rude," Betsy interrupted the argument. The girls glowered at each other, but ceased their arguing, and stared at the stranger in the fancy robe. Betsy sighed, squeezing Winston's hand that he offered for her. Magic? Honestly! That's just what they needed. To have the neighbors talk even more about their strangeness. Maybe they could wrap up this ridiculous visit in a hurry. That way they could just forget about this meeting; and forget about magic.

Morgan wouldn't have any of that. She began mumbling under her breath about her twin.

"…Ruddy Margaret…. Thinks she knows everything…. She doesn't know a thing…. I bet dragons are real". Margaret frowned, standing up straighter behind her mother's chair.

"Stop that, Morgan! They don't exist," Margaret yelled at her. Morgan turned to face her, her face turning pink as she tried not to get angry. She saw Margaret standing with her hands on her hips, obviously thinking she'd won. She forgot all about the female magician (a witch, Morgan corrected herself) and her mother's warning. She stood up, stomped all the way over to where Margaret was, stood before her sister, placing her hands on her own hips in an identical pose.

"DRAGONS ARE REAL," Morgan shouted.

The lights in the room started to flicker. Winston swore the room was getting foggy. He smelled smoke. Betsy was up in an instant, trying to quiet Morgan down. His wife didn't seem to notice the fog, so Winston just assumed he was seeing things.

Morgan finally quieted down. The haze stayed in the room, the smell becoming more obvious. The woman on the couch stood up, sniffing into the air. Betsy watched her for a moment, confused, before blanching.

"The eggs," She whispered, panicking. She ran into the kitchen, frantically. Everyone followed her. On the stove the eggs were burning. Not just being over cooked on the 'low' heat, but they were in the middle of a pit of blue fire. The azure flames were nearing the ceiling, licking upwards. The twins moved behind their father, not wanting to get any closer than they already were. Betsy and Winston stared at the odd color flames, neither one making the move to put the flames out. Did you put out blue fire the same way as a normal fire? They didn't know.

The witch pushed herself in front of the Wood family, gripping her wand tightly. She said a funny word that didn't make any sense to the family behind her. Her stick was pointed at the flames. It seemed as if sparkles of water and light were sent from the tip of the stick. It was amazing. The flashing little specks of… whatever faded over the middle of the roaring fire. The blue flames subsided and then disappeared.

The twins let out simultaneous identical gasps, just like their parents. The strange woman turned towards them, her brown eyes wide. She hadn't expected that to happen. She reached into her robe, dug through a pocket and produced the letters that Morgan had seen her make appear from her wand. She handed a letter each to Morgan and Margaret, before walking slowly back into the living room. The Wood family followed her, sitting back down in the places they had vacated only minutes ago. No one spoke for the longest time.

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Hermione Granger apparated from the Wood home in Richmond to her house in Ottery St. Catchpole, which was just a block from Molly and Arthur Weasley's Burrow. Today felt like one of the longest days of her life. She had arrived at the Wood's home at nine in the morning; she had spent four hours in their home and she was about to enter her own home. She hoped her husband, Ron Weasley, hadn't allowed the kids to eat candy for breakfast like he did yesterday when she had to tell a muggle family in Glasgow that their son was welcome to attend Hogwarts.

It had taken her two hours and forty-five minutes to actually get inside the Woods' house, without them screaming and fainting or calling their police. It seemed that announcing she was witch and performing a spell to prove it was not at all a good idea. It had worked for several other families, she had visited as part of her job as a muggle liaison for the Ministry of Magic's Department of Muggle Relations. She had to keep obliviating the family and start all over again thirty-seven times. To think, all she had to do, that really had changed anything at all, was make sure that Morgan answered the door.

Hermione felt anxious for the Professors at Hogwarts. She could imagine the kinds of things Morgan Wood would get into. After the family had read the twins' acceptance letters, Morgan had been bouncing off the walls. She bombarded Hermione with question after question, demanded to see more spell work and had convinced Hermione to come back to their home the next day to personally take them to Diagon Alley. The last request had come from one hell of a guilt trip on Morgan's part.

Hermione frowned thinking of James, Harry Potter's son, who would be starting Hogwarts this year. Her frown deepened as she entered her house; her son, Braden would be starting too. She could feel it in every part of her body that Morgan Wood, James Potter, and Braden Weasley were going to be the best of friends. Did she really want Braden to get into as much mischief as she, Harry and Ron had? Certainly, not!

Her thoughts were interrupted by her husband, wrapping his strong, freckled arms around her from behind. He gave her a loving peck on the cheek.

"You were gone a long time, love, you get lost?" Ron teasingly asked Hermione. When she didn't answer, he moved in front of her to be able to see her face. His smile disappeared at her frown.

"'Mione, what's wrong," He asked. He brushed a strand of dark hair away from her eyes, tenderly.

"Is it wrong of me to hope that Braden will behave himself at every moment and stay in his dorm room every chance he can get, while at Hogwarts," She asked, quietly. Ron stared at her for a moment, before laughing out right.

"What happened? Did one of those muggles scare you or something," Hermione smacked Ron's arm. She wasn't mad, but she didn't want him laughing at her.

"As a matter of fact, I expect that when Braden comes home at Christmas, covered in bruises and failing half his classes, talking non-stop about a girl named Morgan Wood, that you'll be frightened of her too," Ron stopped laughing, abruptly. He stared at Hermione in awe.

"You think a little girl is going to corrupt Braden? Hermione, give the boy some credit. I'm sure he can corrupt her first," Ron chuckled quietly. He walked into the family room and spread himself out on their sofa. Hermione scowled and followed him.

"Braden is a gentleman and will not be participating in any corrupting, especially of the girls."

"Oh, please, 'Mione. Braden is a Weasley, corrupting girls is what we do. I mean, just look what I did to you. I managed to turn your spotless school records into a car wreck. I was quite pleased with myself. I do believe that Braden might possibly be able to corrupt someone in under seven years, he's had the best teachers after all; nearly the entire Weasley family."

"Ronald, you don't understand. I've met this little girl. I've felt as if I've had an awful premonition. I spent nearly three hours with that little girl, just trying to get into her house. She's not normal," Hermione moved to sit on the recliner in their living room, but Ron pulled her down next to him on the couch. "She has a penchant for trouble and she's always in motion. I'm quite surprised her parents haven't gone mad or that their house isn't in shambles. Ron, I think that Braden mightlike her a great deal. They're so much alike." Ron gave Hermione a skeptical look.

"Like? He's eleven. Girls are the enemy at eleven."

"Her sister, Margaret, would be considered the enemy. Morgan, however, I do believe she may be a product that Fred and George have invented to wreak havoc at Hogwarts." Now, Ron frowned.

"She's that bad, huh?" Hermione rested her bushy haired head on his chest.

"Not bad, per se, and that's the problem. She's going to make the best of Hogwarts. I'm just not sure I want Braden to get involved. I mean what if they turn into another us; another Ron, Harry and Hermione?"

"I see your point. He could put himself in danger; she could put him in danger. They'll skip classes, run off into the forest, pick on the Slytherins, annoy Snape; they might even murder the game of Quidditch. You know James is going to be sucked into their little group, poor kid. Harry and Ginny'll kill us, you know? Well, that settles it, doesn't it? You know what we have to do, don't you," Ron rattled off. Hermione lifted her head off his chest, to look at him.

"What," She asked, breathlessly. She had been caught up in his tirade.

"We have to forbid Braden from meeting this Morgan Wood. We'll have to forbid him from having any fun at all. We'll have to ask Snape to lock him in his room at night, just to be on the safe side. That Morgan Wood is probably very sneaky and devious."

Hermione hit Ron's arm again, as he started laughing. It wasn't funny.

"Ron, this girl is rather… rambunctious."

"Oh no, not rambunctious," He mocked her, "Honestly, Hermione, what could possibly happen?" Ron got up from the couch and stretched, before announcing that he was going to start lunch.

"What could possibly happen," Hermione repeated, slowly, "Famous last words, indeed."


	3. Diagonally, Quidditch Is A Spell, Dear

Read the disclaimer and Chapter 1: Strange Things Are Happening to get up to speed.

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**Words: **4,700 **Pages: **17

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**Chapter 2: Diagonally, Quidditch Is A Spell, Dear**

_July 11th_

Morgan had been up since six o'clock that morning. She hadn't slept very well, due to her excitement of the coming day. Hermione Granger, the woman who had changed their lives the day before, was coming back today to show them where to buy the twins' school necessities. She had called the shopping district 'Diagonally'. It was a very funny name, but Morgan supposed she'd just have to get used to strange names. Ms. Granger had spent nearly an hour discussing the very basic things they would need to know. She had taken special care to explain some of the more complicated things, with very strange names.

Margaret had been the most difficult to convince to go to their new school; this Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Margaret had a hard time believing in things like magic. When she did eventually cave in, Ms. Granger said that she'd return the next day at ten in the morning to show them where to go and how to get money for their supplies. Then Ms. Granger had disappeared with a 'pop' right in front of their very eyes.

Morgan hoped that that would be the first thing they learned; how to disappear. Morgan also wondered what was going to happen with her soccer. Would Hogwarts have a team or even a field where she could go whenever she wanted to? She didn't know, and she had been far too excited about the prospect of learning magic, learning real magic, to remember to ask.

Margaret hadn't been worried about soccer. She had spent the following half hour after the absence of Ms. Granger, muttering about how far behind they probably were from the other students. Some of the other first years would be from families that did everything by magic; like even tying their shoes in the morning. Margaret always worried about school and Morgan never did. Sometimes, Margaret complained that it was unfair that she always had to work hard to do so well in school, but that Morgan never did and she still got decent grades. Margaret's grades were always better, but Morgan's were never far behind.

Morgan took out the letter Ms. Granger had given to her, from the school. It was written on heavy, wheat-colored paper that Ms. Granger had said was parchment. It wasn't typed, but handwritten. The penmanship was spiky, short and compacted. The note was brief and cold. But Morgan didn't care. Morgan had read it so many times, she nearly had it memorized. She lay down and went over the letter again.

On the inside of the parchment it read;

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

Miss Morgan Wood,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Find

enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term

begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than

July 31.

Yours dutifully,

_Severus Snape_

Severus Snape,

_Deputy Headmaster_

The enclosed list had been folded up inside the first letter. Ms. Granger had gone over every item on the list the school had sent. Morgan sat up in her bed, and reached over towards her bedside table, her fingers just brushing the thick paper of the smooth parchment that held the names of the items they would need as well as the items that were strongly recommended.

The list was rather long. It included books, clothing, magical items, and animals. Morgan had groaned when she had seen the list of books that had been required of them to buy. Margaret had been rather pleased. When Morgan had asked if they could just buy one set of texts to share between them, Ms. Granger had said 'it would probably be best for you each to have your own, just in case you are sorted into different houses or even if you decide not to sit next to one another in classes'. She had then proceeded to tell the Woods about the Sorting Hat. Morgan was eager to see this hat; Ms. Granger had mentioned something about it singing.

They were going to buy black robes, and plain gray skirts and jumpers which would have their house colors sewn on them magically while they slept the night of the sorting. They also had to buy ties, which Ms. Granger explained would also have their house colors appear overnight. Cloaks, boots, dragon-hide gloves, and a pointed wizard's hat had been requested of all students. They would need wands, of course, cauldrons, balancing scales, potions supplies, parchment rolls, quills, and ink. Ms. Granger also recommended that the girls share an owl, so that they could write home. Betsy had been appalled that Ms. Granger would suggest that the twins have a troublesome bird around, but that had been before Ms. Granger had explained an owl's usefulness. They were mail carriers. Owls carried letters back and forth between people.

To make sure the Wood family was properly prepared; Ms. Granger had gone so far as conjuring a map of the shopping district they would be going into. 'Diagonally' was behind a shop in London; Mr. Wood could neither deny nor confirm that he had ever heard of the shop called 'The Leaky Cauldron' simply because where he worked in Kensington was not close enough to the city for him to travel into on a regular basis.

The map had shown a single, long, crooked road, with an alley going off somewhere near the middle. The main road appeared to be covered in shops, which Ms. Granger had named off, without even blinking. Margaret being the brainiac she was had stared at the map while Ms. Granger had pointed at the main shops they would visit. Margaret had committed the entire map to memory in just seconds.

When Morgan smelled the coffee coming from downstairs, she pulled back her covers and hopped out of bed. She was already dressed for the day, having been too excited to really sleep. She wandered over to her bureau underneath her window sill. Casting a brief look over to Margaret's sleeping form; she pulled open the bottom drawer and pried the flat board panel, which made up the bottom of the drawer, out. Underneath the panel, resting on the wood of the bottom of the bureau was a small sack of coins. Morgan grabbed the bag, shoving it into her pants pocket, quickly. Maybe 'Diagonally' had sweets she could buy.

Margaret made a small noise, before rolling herself into a sitting position. She glanced over to Morgan who was standing by the window. Morgan gave the bottom drawer of her bureau a swift kick, knocking it into place.

"What's your problem," Margaret asked. There was an edge in her voice, even though she was still half asleep. Morgan turned around, rapidly, staring at her sister with wide eyes.

"Nothing," she mumbled. "Going down for breakfast?" Margaret stared at Morgan with suspicion before nodding her head in answer. Morgan practically sprinted out of their doorway, and Margaret heard her feet pounding on the stairs. Margaret winced at the noise; she wasn't a morning person. Morgan was a morning person; in fact Morgan never seemed to be tired. Margaret was jealous of that ability.

At breakfast, Morgan was fidgeting much more than usual. No one even bothered trying to tell her to calm down, like they would have done, normally. They were all much too excited.

Everything in the Wood household was quieted with a hearty knock on the front door. For a second, no one in the warm kitchen moved. Then, Mr. Wood, stumbled to his feet, and then to the door. He hesitated a moment, and the same thought entered the entire Wood family. _What if it had all been an elaborate joke? What if magic didn't exist?_ Winston pulled back the door, and closed his eyes in relief. Ms. Granger was standing there, a smile on her face.

"Good Morning, Mr. Wood. Are you and you're family ready to explore a world you never knew existed?"

Nearly three hours later, Ms. Granger excused herself from three very pale and sick looking Woods and one very excited one (Morgan) outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Miss Granger mentioned something about meeting with a family in Glasgow, before apparating (that was what she called it; her disappearing trick) away.

They had been through the Leaky Cauldron, watching as cleaning witches and wizards cleared off shabby wooden tables, patrons sipped on steaming green liquid and thin, watery orange colored juice. A couple of wizards in the corner were playing a fantastic card game, in which the cards exploded at random moments. Morgan nearly had to be dragged away from the sight, through a back door into a dingy alleyway.

On the way to the bank, they passed a cauldron shop. The shop was filled to the brim with pots as small as a baby's fist and some bigger than a car. Every size was in a variety of colors, black, silver, bronze, copper, pewter, steel, and gold. Some cauldrons were self-heating or cooling and others came with manuals thicker than tree trunks.

On the opposite side of the long, winding, cobblestone road was an apothecary that sold ingredients for potions. There were shelves of jars containing tongues of this and ears of that. Outside were barrels and buckets of tiny, glistening eyes, there were bottles with foggy liquids and ones with swirling lizards' guts.

There was a shop just for the selling of owls; black, brown, snowy white, spotted, ones with stripes. Many owls were huge, some were very tiny. Inside owls were flying around carelessly and outside they were locked in shiny cages.

As they passed a book store, Margaret's head whipped around. Morgan knew her sister was gazing at the aisles and high bookcases with longing. How could anyone love something so boring?

Diagon Alley (Miss Granger had corrected Morgan shortly after Morgan had asked her about the oddly named street) was booming with merchants selling their products; books, potions, robes, animals, and even ice cream.

Morgan thought that the best thing about Diagon Alley was all the people filling the street. There must have been hundreds of them. There were wizards in long dark robes, with canes and hats, and leather belts with little satchels holding coins; they strolled from shop to shop. Witches rushed by in flurries of brightly colored robes, and hats, clutching at purses, holding shopping funds and lists. Many people were in couples, few by themselves, and still many more were in the alley as a family. There were so many children; young ones still in prams, ones that toddled, some with short, skinny legs and scratched, knobby knees, pre-teens shopping for school supplies with parents and older siblings, who tended to roll their eyes a great deal.

The bank was a large marble building of white, with a set of bronze double doors up front. They were magnificent; Margaret thought. There were wizards and witches milling around inside. Some wore deep green robes with a set of scales embroidered in gold over their hearts. They sat behind desks piled high with heavy, round coins. Once in a while, Margaret spied one of the workers casting a spell on the coins, making them glow a bright red, briefly.

Further along in the bank, the witches and wizards grew very short. Their skin turned leathery. Their ears elongated into points. They turned meaner and rounder. Ms. Granger led them past the desks and up to the front, where there was an enormous wooden counter. One of the short, pointy eared creatures sat behind it, scratching a feather topped pen onto thick yellowing paper. It looked up when Ms. Granger cleared her throat. Margaret tried not to stare at its crooked, yellow teeth and its beady, black eyes embedded in several folds of wrinkled skin. Margaret noticed that Morgan was having difficulty being as polite as she. Margaret nudged her sister's shoulder with her own, breaking Morgan's stare. Morgan glanced at her, catching Margaret's glare. She averted her gaze from the thing behind the desk.

"Good morning," Ms. Granger said cheerily. She didn't seem afraid of these strange things a bit. "We need to exchange some muggle money and open an account for the Wood girls." The creature behind the counter shifted in his seat, glancing behind Ms. Granger, Winston and Betsy, to see the twins. Margaret looked up at him, trying to be braver than she felt at his unwavering gaze. Morgan stared at him shamelessly, even being so bold as to wave.

Half an hour afterwards, the Woods and Ms. Granger were careening down a rickety track in a tiny wooden cart, accompanied by a goblin. Goblins ran Gringotts. Those short, wrinkly little creatures were goblins. Ms. Granger said they were highly intelligent creatures, but also very temperamental. The goblin that was taking them whizzing past hundreds of doors, deep under the bank, towards their new vault was named Wendell. He wore short brown pants and a green shirt covered by a golden brown vest. Morgan thought he looked quite funny, but didn't say anything to him about it. Not that she could, she was too busy trying to count how many doors they had passed already, but they were speeding by much too fast.

She turned around from her seat next to Wendell. Everyone looked as if they were going to be sick. Her mother was holding onto their father's arm with both hands. Winston was gripping the side of the cart with such a force that his knuckles were turning white. Margaret was sitting hunched over, her head between her knees. Even Ms. Granger looked a bit green. Morgan was having a blast. It seemed that the only other one not affected by the speed of the cart was Wendell, who sat staring straight ahead. Morgan leaned over towards him.

"Can we go any faster," She shouted at him, barely heard over the roaring of the wind and the racket of the cart's wheels against the tracks underneath. Everyone behind her let out groans of protest.

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The Woods decided to split up the shopping, now that they had their own Wizarding money. Betsy would take Margaret to the bookstore for their texts, the stationery shop for their writing utensils, and the apothecary to purchase potions materials. Winston would accompany Morgan to the Robe shop to be fitted for both hers and Morgan's robes, to the cauldron shop for two pewter standard size cauldrons, to the Celestial Goods store for telescopes and on Morgan's request, to the sweet shop so that she could buy some candies.

Morgan was led by her father, reluctantly, to 'Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. The shop wasn't as stuffy as Morgan expected. The stores back home were always crowded and warm and prim. The walls in Madame Malkin's were covered with bolts of materials in several colors. There was a sales clerk behind a desk near the door; she didn't look up when Morgan and her father walked in, she just pointed them towards the back of the shop.

"Hogwarts, dear," A plump woman asked Morgan. She was moving around quickly. One moment she was carting around huge piles of fabric in her arms and the next she was juggling spools of thread. A newspaper clipping posted on the wall, showed this woman to be the Madame Malkin. The extract was about the shop's new delivery of imported silks and cottons; 'Soft French silks, supple satins and elegant Egyptian cotton had been delivered just last week'. Morgan wasn't positive, but it looked almost like the photo of the woman was moving. Madame Malkin paused in her pacing long enough to see Morgan nod.

"This way, then," Madame Malkin responded. She led the Woods to a set of two one foot high podiums. On one podium, stood a boy, the other was empty. He was standing up straight with his arms out on either side. A huge black span of fabric was slung across his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the floor. His hair was black and incredibly messy.

"Up there, next to Mr. Potter" Madame Malkin pointed to the empty podium with her elbow. Morgan climbed up the podium. She stood waiting for further instructions. Maneuvering the pile of clothes in her arms to one side, Madame Malkin took out her wand and waved it at a pile of tape measures.

Immediately a single tape measure zoomed over and began measuring Morgan by itself, as Madame Malkin moved around the walls, placing some more of the fabric in her arms at each stop. Morgan stood perfectly still, watching the device measure the space between her right and left ears. Barely moving her mouth, she spoke out to her dad.

"Dad. Dad," Winston turned from the shimmering fabrics on a wall and looked to Morgan. His jaw almost dropped at the self-measuring tool that was gauging the area from Morgan's navel to her nose. "It's moving on its own," Morgan pointed out, "like magic." Winston nodded, still speechless.

The messy haired boy, Mr. Potter, next to Morgan looked at her strangely. Morgan glanced over at him, feeling his gaze. He had brown eyes and slightly rounded cheeks. Morgan knew just by looking at him, she's was almost an inch taller than he.

"What," She asked him. He stared at her, his eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. He looked at her dad, before turning his attention back to her. He gave her a wide smile, showing straight teeth.

"Are you a muggleborn," Morgan stared at him. A muggleborn? Was she?

"My parents are muggles, I guess," She answered him. She looked at her dad, who was still mesmerized by the tape measure (her left knee to the tip of her middle finger on her right hand). "This is my dad," Winston snapped out of his daze long enough to nod in greeting. Madame Malkin bustled over, carrying a similar length of black fabric that the boy next to her was wearing.

"Enough," Madame Malkin said sternly. At once, the mobile tape measure collapsed into itself and fell to the floor. She draped the fabric in her arms over Morgan, so that she looked like the black haired boy. Madame Malkin turned towards him. She bent down to her knees, and began pinning most of the black fabric on him up towards the tops of his sock covered feet. "Alright, Mr. Potter. I'll have you finished before you can say Quidditch," Morgan and her father shared a confused look. Madame Malkin moved upwards, starting to pin up Mr. Potter's sleeve.

"Quidditch," Winston spoke the word. His mouth was unaccustomed to the word and anyone could tell, because it came out roughly and off beat. Morgan turned completely to look at the boy, fully.

"What's Quidditch," Morgan asked him. Potter's head whipped around, his eyes became extraordinarily wide, and his mouth popped open.

In his shock, he dropped his arms, causing Madame Malkin to shout through her mouthful of pins, "Arms up!" The boy, Potter, quickly raised his arms again.

"What do you mean, what's Quidditch?"

"Is it food," Morgan asked him. The boy stared at her. "A type of animal,"

"It's a game," The boy said, through clenched teeth. He was obviously upset. Madame Malkin moved to his other side.

"Like cards or chess," Morgan turned forward away from the boy, quickly becoming bored with this Quidditch, whatever it was. If it was anything like cards or chess, then Quidditch was nothing that Morgan wanted to be a part of.

"No, not like chess. It's a sport," Morgan's eyes brightened. A sport? Sports were fun and fast. James continued, "You play on broomsticks, you know, like fly, you play it by flying in the air on broomsticks. Quidditch broomsticks, specifically or a racing broom, if you so prefer."

Morgan and her father were riveted. This game sounded fun. It sounded dangerous. It sounded exactly like the type of sport Morgan would play. They listened raptly, as the Potter boy explained about the players, the positions, and the balls.

"There are seven players on each team; three chasers, two beaters, a seeker and one keeper. There are four balls. One is called a quaffle. The chasers pass the quaffle to each other and try to pass through one of three gold hoops stationed on a far end of the pitch. Every time the quaffle goes through a hoop your team gets ten points. The hoops are guarded by the opposing team's keeper. On the other side of the pitch, are three identical hoops that are guarded by your own keeper. There are two balls called bludgers. Bludgers are heavy, black and enchanted to fly around the pitch, trying to knock the players off their brooms. The beaters have bats that they use to smash the bludgers toward opposing players," Potter paused. He glanced at Morgan and her father, making sure that they were still following what he was saying.

"The last ball is really small, and golden; it has wings. It's called a snitch. The snitch is wicked fast and nearly impossible to see up in the air. It's the seeker's job to catch the snitch, before the other team's seeker does. Once the snitch is caught, the game ends. The team whose seeker caught the snitch receives one hundred and fifty points, and they usually win the game." Morgan was in absolute awe of this game. Imagine that; a whole sport played up in the air on flying broomsticks.

After Madame Malkin had finished hemming the boy's robe, she waved her wand over a nearby bundle of fabric. Several finished replicas of the boy's robes appeared in their place. She then waved her wand of the fallen tape measure near Potter's feet. A selection of measurements floated up from the device in a shimmering gold. Madame Malkin excused herself to deaf ears.

"James?"

The boy on the podium next to Morgan stopped his praise of a Quidditch team from Puddlemere. He turned around, locating the place of the call. Morgan and her father turned too, in time to see a red headed woman come forward towards them. She had small girl and a smaller boy in tow.

"Mum," Potter, James, greeted. He turned towards Morgan and Mr. Wood. "This is my mum."

The red headed woman grabbed Winston's hand and shook it. She did the same to Morgan.

"My _little_ sister, Lily."

The girl stuck out her tongue at her brother. She had long black hair and big brown eyes.

"And that's my little brother, Marc-Arthur; Mac."

The little boy looked almost identical to his mother with deep red hair and freckles. The only major difference was that this boy had green eyes instead of his mother's brown. Now, James turned to Morgan to introduce her to his family. "This is- um- this is"

"Morgan," Morgan saved him. "Morgan Wood. And this is my dad." All three of the children's eyes widened. James' face went an astonished white. The looked almost ill.

"W-Woo-Wood," He stuttered in question. Madame Malkin came back, carrying several pairs of gray slacks, white collared shirts, and gray sweaters. Mrs. Potter relieved her of the pile. Both women went up front, so that Mrs. Potter could buy James' uniform. Madame Malkin dragged Winston away, as well, saying something about holding onto Morgan's uniform, to which he replied that, he'd need some for her twin, Margaret, as well. When the adults were out of sight, the three Potter children turned towards Morgan with wide, amazed eyes.

"Your last name is Wood? As in Oliver Wood," Lily asked of Morgan. She moved closer to the podium Morgan was standing on. "The Puddlemere United Keeper; Oliver Wood?"

"You're related to Oliver Wood," Mac asked her. "Can you get me his autograph? Can I have your autograph?" Morgan stepped away to the far side of the podium, trying to get away from the fanatic Potter kids. She tripped over the back of the black fabric still draped around her shoulders. James scrambled up her podium to help her. Lily and Mac gasped and hurried around the back of the podium towards Morgan.

"You alright," James asked, holding out his hand. Morgan nodded. She took James' hand and he dragged her up, with Lily and Mac helping by rearranging the black fabric that would be her robes, back onto her shoulders.

"I don't know any Oliver Wood. So, we're certainly not related. I'm a muggleborn," Morgan explained. She hoped she used the term correctly. "We're not related to anyone. At least not anyone with magic."

Morgan would have taken it back if she could to save herself from seeing Lily's and Mac's disappointed expressions. Morgan looked over at James and he tried to quickly mask his own disappointment.

The parents came back; Mrs. Potter with bundled packages and Morgan's father under several layers of gray. Mrs. Potter muttered something quietly, her wand pointed at her bags, which promptly shrunk to the size of her fist. Morgan watched James' mum place the tiny packages in a pocket.

"We have to go to Ollivander's still, James," Mrs. Potter announced. She reached over and took Mac's hand in her own. She turned to Winston and Morgan, "It was very nice to meet you. I'll probably see you in September. Have a wonderful summer." She shook their hands again. Winston stared at her, confusedly for a moment as she turned toward Madame Malkin. "Thank You, again," she told the woman. She, Mac and Lily walked away. Both of the children turned and waved good-bye to Morgan.

"Arms out, dear," Madame Malkin said to Morgan. She had Morgan standing on the podium and began to pin the black fabric to fit correctly. Morgan stood as straight as she could under the fabric's weight. She held her arms out to either side. James stood behind Madame Malkin, slowly backing away towards the exit.

"If you're really interested in Quidditch," he began. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "There's a shop just down the road; Quality Quidditch Supplies. It's got books and equipment, if you want."

Morgan smiled and looked over at her father. He looked just as excited as she did. Morgan looked back at James and nodded.

"Yeah, thanks, we'll do that."

"I've got to go, see you on the train, then," James asked, hopefully. Morgan thought she remembered hearing Ms. Granger speak about a train that would take all the students to the School on September first.

"Yeah, of course," Morgan responded. James' face lit up into wide smile, his round cheeks becoming bigger. He gave an enthusiastic wave, before turning and jogging out the door. Madame Malkin stood up, blocking Morgan's view of the closing front door.

"All done, dear. I'll just make the rest."

The rosy cheeked tailor waved her wand in the direction of several folded bolts of black fabric. In just seconds, the folded fabric was replaced by half a dozen copies of Morgan's makeshift robe. Madame Malkin swished her wand at Morgan and the pinned black fabric disappeared off Morgan's shoulders. The tailor pointed to the pile of robes and they became bundled in brown paper with a twine ribbon. Madame Malkin performed the same spell on the pile of gray uniforms Winston had put on the stool. Then, the witch muttered, 'Reducto!' and all the packaged goods shrunk significantly. Madame Malkin thrust a bag into Winston's hands, and then she dropped each parcel down into it. Though the bag had been filled to the brim with shrunken packages, it looked as if it weighed nothing at all. Morgan took the bag from her father's hands. The bag felt lighter than a feather. She stared down at it in awe.

"It's a spell dear," Madame Malkin explained. Morgan looked up at her father and he shrugged. Winston paid Madame Malkin. He and Morgan thanked the woman and exited the shop. Looking out at Diagon Alley, Morgan became even more sure of something than she had been earlier; She was going to love magic!

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Thanks for reading.

New chapters will be posted as soon as I have finished the chapter that follows it. Example: If chapter five was the last posted chapter, chapter six will not be posted until chapter seven is finished being written.

If you have any questions please email me or write it down in the review.

TNGoH

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**Joe and Izzy:** Thank you so much for the review. I'm glad that you liked the part with Ron and Hermione. There should be a little more of them. Look for updates. Cheers, Ta! 


	4. Two Copies of No Relation, Please

Read the disclaimer at the very beginning and Chapter 2: Diagonally, Quidditch Is a Spell, Dear to get up to speed.

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**Words: **3,425 **Pages:** 12

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Chapter 3: Two Copies of No Relation, Please

_July 11th_

Margaret Wood and her mother stood in the entrance of the most magnificent bookstore she had ever seen. It was called Flourish and Blotts. There were rows upon rows of shelves, each filled books of all sizes and colors. There were short, fat books with yellowing pages and gold lettering on the covers. There were tall and skinny tomes with cream-colored pages and boasting such subjects as; "A Thousand and One Ways to Clean: The Spells We All Should Know" and "Kneazle's With Measles".

Margaret looked over at the shelf closest to her right; 'Ancient Runes' the title of the section read. Every book in the area had strange symbols on their spines. Only a few of them had titles that Margaret could read. The next section was on something called Arithmancy, then Astrology and Astronomy. On and on it went, until Zombies, which shared a space with Yetis and Werewolves.

A tall, thin man approached Margaret and her mother. He carried himself as if he was the tallest man in the world; high and proper. He wore long, hunter green robes with silky black lining. He had brown hair, cut close to his head, dark gray eyes surrounded by wire-framed, silver glasses. His nose was long and sharp; his lips seemed almost too wide for his face. But it wasn't any of these features that got Margaret's attention. It was all the little flourishes about him. The odd twist in his hair, the sparkle in his eye, the swagger in his step, the tilt to his smile and the glittering 'F & B' gold piping on the front of his robes. If any man had the appearance of a wizard, it was this man. He was by no means young; he was graying at the temples and his face was beginning to wrinkle around his eyes and lips. He looked like the powerful wizards Margaret imagined from the story books she read. Margaret tried not to stare at him; it was very hard. He even had Betsy captivated. He made both mother and daughter very nervous.

"Good afternoon, ladies," The man greeted. His voice was deep, but light and airy, like thunder being caught on the wind. "Is there any way that I can be of assistance?" He was awfully imposing, what with his voice and stature. Margaret took a slight step back, but nothing more, because she felt that would be rude. Betsy didn't move at all. She was staring at this man with what Margaret could only describe as fear.

"Uhm, ye-yes. My daughter, Margaret, needs books, school books, books for school" Betsy began. She grabbed Margaret by the elbow and dragged her forward, recklessly. Margaret stood in her new position, dumbfounded. She had never seen her mother act so… flighty. Sure, there had been times, when she and Morgan would bring home friends and Betsy wouldn't stop speaking. She'd just go on and on about this or that, causing the twins' friends to grin and snicker at each other. She and Morgan, usually got over that, but this was positively humiliating.

"Margaret will be starting Hogwarts this year. She's a witch. Well, I mean, she, Ms. Granger, said that Margaret was one, but she didn't mean it as an insult."

The man started to smile even wider as if he had just realized what was happening. Margaret was afraid to look at him. She was probably blushing six shades of red on behalf of herself and her mother. Betsy was still speaking, not paying any attention to anything around except the wizard in front of her.

"So," The man cut in, "you'll need a full set of the required texts for a Hogwarts' first year?"

"Oh yes! That would be wonderful. Isn't that just wonderful, Margaret," Betsy asked. Margaret turned to face her mother. She didn't return Betsy's cheerful smile.

"Yes," Margaret admitted, tightly. "But we'll need two full sets of books, because my sister is starting this year as well." He bid them to follow him as he yanked numerous texts (two of each) off shelves. He wound his way through the aisles, naming off the books as he went.

"Two copies of "Astronomy and Beyond", two of "Magical Theory", two "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection", "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi", "A History of Magic", "Magical Drafts and Potions".

"Astronomy and Beyond" was a large, almost square black book, with the title written in silver, and there were golden specks underneath it to represent the stars. "Magical Theory" was also black, and three times as thick as the astronomy text. "The Dark Forces" tome had an ugly, brown cover, with the title and author stamped on in a font similar to leaking slime. The Herbs book was a brilliant, mossy green. The cover was soft and the whole book smelt like a fresh cut lawn. The history text was a dull and muted gray. It was a heavy, thick rectangle massing seven times the astronomy tome. The potions book was a navy blue, a perfect square, an half the size of the history book. It smelled awful, like burning rubber and rotten eggs.

The man stopped in front a series of shelves in a section labeled 'Transfiguration'. They were now upstairs and as far away from the front entrance as they could be. Both Margaret and Betsy were balancing identical stacks of texts. Margaret's arms were getting tired and they were sore. The man was paying them no attention. He was squatting down to better see the lowest row of books. He was mumbling to himself. Margaret looked over at her mother, hoping that she wasn't staring at the man anymore. Betsy wasn't. In fact, she too preoccupied with juggling the books in her arms that she didn't even notice Margaret's gaze. Although Margaret wasn't accustomed to the lack of acknowledgement, she much preferred it to her mother prattling on to strange men.

"Where were they? Where, where," The man was mumbling into the shelves. "Ah, yes," He put a long, thin finger on the spine of a thick, brown covered book. "Here it is; "Standard Book of Spells: Grade One". The man stood up, back to his full height, pulling up two brown cover books. "The last ones. I'll have to go in the back, to find more," he was still mumbling, a great contrast to his natural speaking voice. Mumbling, his voice became rough and thick, like he had just woken up after smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in the minutes before he went to sleep. He suddenly became aware that Margaret was watching him, just over the tip of the large stack of books.

"Was there anything else you needed," he asked, politely. Margaret knelt down and deposited her stack of books onto the carpeted floor. There were tons of things she needed; a wagon would be most appreciated at the moment. Betsy placed her own stack onto Margaret's so that it was taller than her daughter. Margaret looked at new stack and supposed a crane would be more useful than wagon.

"Are there books about the general knowledge of magic? You know for people who might not know very much? I'm afraid my sister and I are at a terrible disadvantage," Margaret began. The man had started to nod, while she had been speaking.

"Are you by chance a muggleborn," the man asked. He was smiling, again. A muggleborn? That was it. That was the word Ms. Granger had used. Muggleborn. She and Morgan were muggleborns. Ms. Granger was one, too; she had said so. Margaret nodded her answer. The man searched his robe pockets. Then, after a few silent moments, in which mother and daughter watched, he pulled a slip of paper from an inside location. He handed it over to Margaret. It was a list of book titles and their authors.

"These are the ones that most muggleborns have found to be the most useful."

He looked over at the tower of texts and frowned. Betsy followed his gaze.

"Perhaps a cart," Betsy suggested. The man shook his head.

"No, no. A spell," he corrected. "I'll take these down to the register with me, put them in a bag and place a weight lessening spell on them. You can keep shopping, if you'd like." He held fast to his wand, a long, thin stick with all sorts of curves and flourishes carved into it. He waved it at the tower and it lifted a few inches from the ground. He turned and walked back towards the stairs, the books followed him. Margaret watched in fascination as the floating books descended the stairs in the same bouncing manner as the man.

When both the books and the man had disappeared, Margaret stared at the thirty titles on the piece of parchment paper. All of them could be found upstairs, because the shop had put them all in the same section.

"This way mum, near where we picked up "A History of Magic". Margaret began to lead her mother. They passed the start of the 'Transfiguration' section. They walked past several more aisles, and then Margaret turned abruptly into a cove. Betsy followed.

There was man in the aisle with a young boy. The man was tall and lean, with slight muscles in his arms. He had flaming red hair and clear blue eyes. Freckles covered his nose, ears and arms. The boy looked like the redheaded man, except his own hair was a subtler red, almost brown. He had no freckles. He was tall for looking as young as he did. His eyes were the same blue as the man and anyone could tell that they were related.

"That was terribly awkward," Betsy stage-whispered to Margaret. She cut her eyes to the right, glancing at the man and his son, not wanting them to hear. Margaret was on her knees, gazing at a shelf that had nearly fifty books on it.

"Was it," Margaret asked. Then, "what was?" She didn't look up from the rows. Betsy cast another look over at the father and son. They weren't paying Betsy and Margaret any attention. They were busy, searching for a book it seemed. The red-headed man was holding a booklist, written on the same type of parchment of Margaret's and Morgan's list from Hogwarts. The dark-haired boy was swinging his own bag of books carelessly. Betsy turned back to Margaret, who had pulled a book from a shelf and was reading the summary on the inside.

"My rambling; it was embarrassing. I was just nervous. I probably shouldn't be, but I don't know if there's some kind of etiquette I should be using towards wizards," Betsy confessed. Margaret shut the book she was looking at, and glanced up at her mother. She frowned.

"Do you really think we should act differently? I mean, they're just people, aren't they," Margaret asked.

"Yes, of course they are. But…," Betsy trailed off.

"But what," Margaret asked.

"They have magical powers, I don't. It makes me nervous to think that if something happens to you and your sister here or at this school, I can't do anything about it."

"Mum, we'll be fine. I don't think wizards are the type to go after the unarmed," Margaret explained. She thought for a moment then added, "In any case, I don't think that Morgan and I will be left completely defenseless."

"No, I guess not. I suppose this will just take some time to get used to," Betsy replied. She looked down at Margaret still kneeling in front of the shelves. "How many more books do you think you might want?"

Margaret stared down at the two books she was holding in her hands, comparing them. How many she wanted, probably shouldn't be the question. It should have been how many was she allowed to buy. Because to be quite honest, Margaret would buy every book in the store if her mother allowed her to buy all the books she wanted.

"I don't know," Margaret spoke softly, "maybe two or three. Is that okay?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Maybe we can pick out something for Morgan and Dad?"

Margaret frowned. Morgan would be about as likely to read a book that Margaret picked out as Margaret was as likely to play a game that Morgan wanted. It probably wouldn't ever happen. But sure they could pick out a book for her. Right now, however, Margaret had decided on the books she wanted.

"I think I'm ready. I've got three," Margaret told her mother. She stood up, lugging the texts with her.

"Let me see," Betsy said. Margaret held still as her mother picked up each text and looked at them. She picked up "The Greatest Wizarding Events of the Past 200 Years" by Maia Herstry, and then "The Greatest Witches and Wizards of the Past 200 Years" by Maia Herstry. When Betsy picked up "Hogwarts: A History", she spoke.

"Are there more copies of these texts?"

"Yes."

"Could you get another copy of the Herstry books for Dad and Me? And two more of this," Betsy asked, holding up Margaret's copy, "one for Morgan and one for Daddy and me. Margaret passed the Herstry books to her mother, before grabbing two more copies of "Hogwarts: A History". Once they maneuvered the seven books between them, Margaret led her mother down the spiral staircase. They weaved between wizards, looking at books that described how to take care of dragons and through hordes of witches standing around a cardboard cut-out of a handsome wizard who would be at the store to sign his new book "Charming Spells and Smiles" next week. Then mother and daughter approached the register. The man, who had helped them earlier in the day, was waiting for them.

"I see you found quite a bit. Will this be all," He asked. He gave them a smile and Betsy nodded. She moved forward and took several coins from a new satchel she had gotten at Gringotts. He rang up their purchases.

"There you are," The man behind the register counter was saying to Betsy. Margaret looked to her mother. The man passed Betsy a bag filled with all their new purchases. Betsy took it. Instead of the bag jerking her arm downwards with all the weight, Betsy seemed to be able to lift it above her head and hold it there (though Betsy really had no reason to do so). Behind Betsy was the red-headed man and with him his darker-haired son from the aisle upstairs.

"I've placed a feather-light spell on the bag, so that anything inside of it, feels as if it weighs nothing at all. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, Ms…," The man trailed off, he paused and leaned forward a bit, hoping for Betsy to supply the rest.

"Oh. Mrs. Wood. I'm Betsy Wood," Betsy told the man. She offered her one unoccupied hand, hesitantly, and he gave it a pleasant shake. The red-headed man and his son were now staring at the back of Betsy's head with identical looks of disbelief (though, for two entirely different reasons).

"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wood. I'm Tiberius Flourish; my great uncle owns this shop."

Betsy returned the man's warm smile and turned away from him to motion to Margaret that they were ready to leave. She had just opened her mouth before she was cut off by the dark-haired boy.

"Are you really a Wood," he queried of Betsy. "Are you related to Oliver Wood, then, the Puddlemere Keeper?" His blue eyes had gone wide and seemed ready to pop from his head. His cheeks were flushed in unrestrained excitement. "I'm Braden Weasley," the boy announced. He grabbed Betsy's hand in a vice like grip and began pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "I'm a big fan. Could you let him know that?"

The boy's father rushed towards Betsy. He shot her a very apologetic smile and grasped both his son's and her hands, to try and pry the boy's fingers away.

"I'm really very sorry about this. He's a bit obsessed," The boy's father explained. "Braden, son, let go. She's not related to Oliver Wood." The boy's, Braden's, trance-like state broke at his father's words. He dropped Betsy's hand and stood motionless for a moment, and then he turned only his head to look at his father.

"Not? Not related to Oliver Wood," he wondered. His father shook his head. Braden Weasley looked terribly heartbroken, as if he had just been told his puppy had been run over. His eyes dimmed and his smile drooped.

"Sorry, but they're muggles, well, muggleborns, really. They're not related to anyone with magic, right," The father asked of Betsy. Betsy stood astounded by this man's intelligence of herself and Margaret.

"Yes," Betsy nearly whispered, "but how did you know?" Margaret had been watching the whole scene from her spot a few feet away. She unconsciously pressed her fingertips over her face and neck, through her long, brown curls and twirled a hem of her t-shirt. She had no idea if she had some kind of physical deformation that noted her as a muggleborn. Well, her clothes were certainly different. The Wood family had been the only ones, as far as Margaret could see, who wore jeans and t-shirts. Everyone else wore robes with varying degrees of elaborateness. Would it really matter that her parents didn't have magical abilities? She hoped not. Braden's father didn't appear to have a problem with it. Margaret assumed the only reason he had mentioned it at all was to make Braden realize that it was terribly unlikely that Betsy and Margaret were related to anyone in the wizarding world.

"My wife told me," the man answered. Then as if realizing that his answer really made no sense to the Woods (because they didn't know who he was nor to whom he was married) he clarified, "I'm Ron Weasley; Hermione Granger is my wife." A look of recognition swept over both Betsy's and Margaret's faces. Mr. Weasley stuck out one large hand and Betsy shook it.

"It's very nice to meet you," Betsy told him. He looked to Margaret.

"And are you Morgan," he asked, "or Margaret?"

"I'm Margaret," Margaret answered. She shook Mr. Weasley's hand, too. It was large and rough, and calloused, but warm. "Ms. Granger is your wife?" Mr. Weasley nodded. "But her last name isn't, I mean, your last name isn't, um."

Thankfully, Mr. Weasley caught on to what Margaret wanted to know.

"Right. Right," he started, "Hermione's kind of famous in the Wizarding world. They know her as Hermione Granger, not Hermione Weasley."

"Oh," Margaret said.

"Braden, would you care to say 'hello' properly?" Braden was staring at the carpet covered ground, the very tips of his ears burning red. He was clutching the sides of his black robes in his fists.

"Hullo," He mumbled. Margaret had to strain her ears in order to hear him. It felt weird to be near Mr. Weasley; having him know of her and her family, but to know noting of him. It made Margaret uneasy. She certainly didn't think Mr. Weasley would do anything to her. But all the same, Margaret wasn't used to not knowing something. And it seemed the Wizarding world had a lot of things Margaret didn't know.

The group (Mr. Weasley, Braden, Betsy and Margaret) fell into an uncomfortable silence, in which no one knew what to say. Mr. Flourish, who had been waiting patiently behind his register counter, cleared his throat, signaling that he was ready for the next customer. The sound jolted the group out of their reverie. Betsy and Margaret took a step towards the shop door. Mr. Weasley placed his purchases onto Mr. Flourish's counter and watched Margaret and Betsy reach the exit.

"Hermione and I like to get all the kids on the train to Hogwarts by 10:15. We'll look for you," Mr. Weasley called out. Betsy smiled in thanks to him. She and Margaret both lifted their hands and waved goodbye to Mr. Weasley, Mr. Flourish and Braden.

They exited the shop and walked towards the Apothecary. The streets of Diagon Alley were still crowded with patrons. It seemed that no matter what time of day it was (early morning or late afternoon) the Wizarding world was always busy. And for Margaret, everything was going along perfectly smooth, just like the cobblestone street. She hoped it would last.

* * *

Thanks for reading. 

Leave a review, telling me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you thought could have been better.

New chapters will be posted as soon as I have finished the chapter that follows it. Example: If chapter five was the last posted chapter, chapter six will not be posted until chapter seven is finished being written.

If you have any questions please email me or write it down in the review.

I plan to respond to all reviews (good or not so good) in the chapter that follows the one the review was posted for. Example: If you post a review after reading chapter four, it will be answered or commented on at the end of chapter five.

I don't like this chapter as much as the previous two. Margaret's a bit more serious and thought oriented than Morgan. So any chapters focusing on her (which won't be as many as the one's on Morgan) will seem more about what she thinks and wonders. They might seem a bit like slow reading, a maybe even a bit boring. So don't worry if you don't like them as much as Morgan's exciting, bouncy, faster reads.

You'll also notice that the amount of pages dedicated to Margaret is significantly less than others. I'm going to say this is because Margaret is more to the point. She gets right to it, while Morgan would rather take the long road. But the truth is, I'm like Margaret more often than I'm like Morgan, so writing about someone I relate to almost everyday is a bit boring, but alas, I shall prevail.

Cheers, all!

**Joe and Izzy: **YAY! Thanks for your review. The Oliver Wood thing will come up a lot; sort of like a long standing joke. I didn't come up with the idea of Harry naming his kids after his parents, I've read at least two other fics who did it first and it made sense to me, so I said, sure why not. Keep reading. Enjoy.


	5. Packed, Pecked, Picked, Poked

Read the disclaimer at the very beginning and Chapter 3: Two Copies of No Relation, Please to get up to speed.

Allnew characters in this chapter are theproperty of this author. (if you don't recognize a name it is the property of this author).

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**Words:** 5,009 words **Pages:** 17 pages

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**Chapter 4: Packed, Pecked, Picked, Poked**

_July 31st_

Hermione and Ron arrived at the Burrow early, with their children. Hermione had promised to help Molly with the preparations for the celebration. Harry's birthday was today and everybody was showing up at 2 o'clock to celebrate. Everyone meantthetwenty-four Weasleys, seven Lupins, Sirius Black and the five Potters, who would stay far into the evening. Not to mention the numerous guests who could only stay for a few hours or for just a few minutes. The burrow would be packed.

"Molly," Hermione called out.

She stood in the Burrow's tiny family room. Shecouldn't hear a thing. She turned, looking all around the room. Molly wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Family pictures lined every wall. Baby pictures of Molly and Arthur, then their children, and the grandchildren were stacked on shelves near the staircase. Pictures of everyone growing up and getting married were mounted around the front door. And professional portraits of all the smaller Weasley families sat on a ledge above the fireplace. Harry and Ginny's family was to the far left, then Ron and Hermione's, Fred's, Greorge's, the formerly ex-communicated Percy and his, and last Bill's, to the far right.

In the center of the line, in a black marble frame was a large smiling photo of the late Charlie Weasley. He died nearly half a year before Harry defeated Voldemort, murdered by Death Eaters. It had been tragic and Hermione knew that despite everyone's everyday smiles, they all still thought of and missed the second eldest, dearly. Hermione also knew that behind Charlie's photo, Molly had slipped a portrait of Charlie and his fiancé, Ciara Hagan. Ciara had been beautiful. She was Irish and brilliant. She had been a Ravenclaw in Charlie's year, but they hadn't noticed oneanother until years later. She had developed a product that helped magically inflicted scars heal to almost invisibility. Molly had convinced Charlie to volunteer for the product testing Ciara was doing in Southern Dublin.Molly had disapproved of Charlie keeping some of his talon cuts and burn scars as sorts of battle trophies. Charlie had seen Ciara again, during thetesting,and had been instantly taken. He had brought her home to meet everyone and to propose.

Hermione stared at the grinning portrait of Charlie, trying not to seem too depressed at her thoughts that lingered on the unseen photo. Molly had pushed it to the back of the frame within a week of the news of Charlie's death. It wasn't that Molly hadn't liked Ciara. She had. Very much so. But Hermione supposed Molly couldn't bear to look at the bright, smiling faces or maybe it was the clasped hands over the soft swell of Ciara's obviously pregnant middle. Ciara had died just hours after Charlie. The Daily Prophet had claimed the Death Eaters had killed her soon afterwards, but all the Weasleys knew she had died of heartbreak just before Montague had cast the killing curse.

Behind Hermione,Ron barely stifled a yawn in his fist. Cassia, Hermione and Ron's oldest child at thirteen, had woken her parents up at five in the morning, complaining of what Ron called 'women's problems'. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep after Cassia left their bedroom. Hermione had and as a result she had been fresh as a daisy when the whole family had gotten up at ten. Ron had stayed up, counting quaffles going through hoops, it hadn't helped. He needed a firewhiskey and soon. Cassia had collapsed into a maroon armchair, closest to the Burrow's front door. It smelled of her grandfather, Arthur Weasley; like mint, tea, and explosions(caused by Arthur's'experiments' with muggle devies).Hermione and Ron's middle child, Braden, stood, supported by the front door, with his eyes closed, half asleep. At eleven years old, he was nearing five and a half feet, which was just an inch under his older sister. Hermione had been worried when he grew three inches in two weeks andwhen he had started cleaning his room without being told, but Ron assured her everything was perfectly fine and Weasley puberty worked in strange ways. Their youngest child, Evan, would be nine in a month. He, like Hermione was wide awake. Evan was the only one of Ron and Hermione's children to have the Weasley red hair.

"Hermione, dear? Is that you?"

Hermione turned towards the kitchen. Molly was definitely in there. Pots were clanging softly, the sink was running, and there was a clunking of a knife onto a cutting board. Hermione smiled to herself,and thenshe turned to face her family.

"Right. Well. Evan, I want you and Braden to find Grandpa and help look for a table to hold all the presents. Cass, you and I will help Grandma." The boys left; Evan bouncing merrily and Braden dragging his feet along. Cassia eased herself from the armchair and staggered into the kitchen. Hermione turned towards Ron, her smile faltering at his tired expression.

"Maybe you should go up to your old room. Take a nap or something."

"It won't work," Ron told his wife. Hermione looked at him sympathetically.

"Maybe it will. You could at least try. I'll make you a potion tonight," Hermione told him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him close to her. He responded by holding her in a hug.

"I hate those potions. They have an awful taste. Besides," Ron argued. A sly smile slipped onto his lips, as he looked down at Hermione. He pressed himself into her. "I know a better way to tire me out."

Hermione's brown eyes went impossibly wide. She tried to pull back from Ron but he held fast.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione exclaimed in a shocked whisper. She succeeded in getting away from him. "We most certainly cannot do that here; in your parents' home, no less." Hermione was indignant. Ron rolled his eyes at her.

"You say that like we've never done it before," Ron teased. Hermione looked about the tiny room, checking to make sure no one was listening. "It wouldn't be the first time, you know. And this time we've got many more rooms to choose from." Hermione smacked his arm, causing him to laugh and rub his arm in mock pain. Hermione turned from him and stalked to the kitchen, determined to help prepare snacks and sandwiches for the birthday party.

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Guests had started to arrive half an hour ago; starting with Percy and Penelope (formerly Clearwater) Weasley and their three kids. Percy arrived with his arm through Penelope's. He was sporting wire-rimmed bifocals and wearing deep emerald robes. His hair was combed back and his shoes were shining from underneath the hem of his robes. Penelope had opted for muggle fashion; appearing in a pale yellow summer dress. 

Their three children; Samuel, Kelly, and Henry moved through the burrow with incredible swiftness. They walked straight from the front door to the back yard, where Molly, Hermione, and Cassia were setting out food and clearing table space for presents.

Samuel, the oldest at eighteen, led his two younger siblings out into the yard, reading a brown leather covered textbook. He wore glasses, similar to his father's for his nearsightedness. However, besides his bookishness and glasses, the similarities stopped there. Samuel's hair was hardly ever combed, he wore blue jeans and a 'Weird Sisters' t-shirt. He moved across the back lawn to one of the many unoccupied tables and slouched into a chair, without looking up from his book.

Kelly was unusually chipper this day. She had received her N.E.W.T.s scores just a week earlier. She was ecstatic, and couldn't wait to let everyone know what exactly she had earned. The seventeen year old would turn eighteen in a fortnight, though it seemed to the majority of her family that she was bordering on turning thirty-five. She was wise and impressive. Kelley was tall (70 inches) and thin, she spoke eloquently and intelligently. She could recite statistics and facts, making her a favorite conversationalist of Hermione's. Unfortunately, Kelly has inherited her father's need to make herself seem better than she was.

If Samuel appeared to look like his father and Kelly acted like her father, then Henry was his mother all the way around. He was all smiles and serenity. He was smart and confident without going overboard. He had Penelope's blue eyes, and slightly rounded cheeks. He could go from making jokes to serious and intent in just seconds. At fifteen, he would be starting his fifth year at Hogwarts as a Ravenclaw prefect. Many of his female peers found him to be an alluring enigma, and thus quite the crush magnet.

"Lovely day, isn't it," Percy asked aloud. He strolled over to his mother and pecked her on both cheeks, before turning and doing the same to Hermione and Cassia. Cassia struggled a little trying to avoid the pecks, whilst still being polite. "Are we the first to arrive?"

"Yes, you are," Hermione said. She moved the corned beef sandwiches an inch. Cassia looked at the vegetable plate and rolled her big brown eyes. Honestly, her Uncle Percy could be so predictable. Being early was so not cool. Hermione nudged Cassia in the shoulder with her elbow. She glared at her mother, before turning and marching into the house. Hermione rued that day in February that began Cassia's teen years.

The Lupin clan arrived next. Tonks came barreling through the yard, a large box hoisted in her hands. Remus came running after her, attempting to help her steady the package. Together they managed to get the box onto the table, but Tonks pushed her side just a bit too far and slid Percy and Penelope's gift right off.

Remus looked just as haggard as usual. He was pale, too thin, and slightly slouched. The full moon had ended last night. He looked tired. His age was beginning to show full force now; his facial features were sagging, and he had lines all around his eyes and mouth. His hair was thinning and turning gray. After the war, he had been able to relax some. He didn't have to worry so much about anyone, but himself. Then Tonks was back on his doorstep. She wanted to 'talk'. Goodness gracious, women and their need to exchange words every few minutes. He didn't know what they would talk about. They didn't really work together and Christmas wasn't for months yet. She wanted to 'talk' about 'them' and what was meant by that was that she wanted there to be a 'them'. She had arrived at his tiny little apartment at six in the morning that Saturday and didn't leave until five in the evening next Tuesday. They were married soon afterwards.

Tonks looked almost the same as she had way back when. She was tall and slender. Her hair was fashioned into a short bob (she was brunette for now). Her eyes were an awkward blue green, almost an unnatural teal; bright and vibrant. Her age was still a guessing game, because she could change her appearance at will and seem to be as old or young as she wanted. Molly had sworn up and down that having kids would make you grow up and settle down faster than a Firebolt could go. It had been true for everyone else,but not Tonks. After five kids, who weren't really kids anymore, Tonks was just as lively as ever.

Remus and Tonks' first born were twins. Derek and Gideon would have looked incredibly identical if it weren't for the fact that Gideon was a metamorphmagus. They both would have had shaggy, sandy blonde hair (except Gideon had turned his into short, black spikes). They both would have had bright yellowish brown eyes (if Gideon hadn't decided blue suited him better). They both had straight noses, were 73 inches tall, and were skinny as rails (Gideon by choice). One thing Gideon couldn't change to make himself stand apart from his brother was that they were both twenty-five, now.

The Lupin twins' younger sisters Louise and Clara were not twins, but were mistaken as so very often. Both girls had long, brown hair (which everyone supposed was from Tonks' side, but no one knew for sure) and the same yellowish eyes as their father and older brothers. They had small noses and wide mouths. Both were terribly smart and extremely quiet. Though the girls looked and acted like twins, Clara was two years younger than Louise and three years younger than the twins.

The youngest Lupin, Patrick, was the family oddball. His hair was stick straight and dirty blond, his eyes were light green. He was dimpled in both rosy cheeks. He was much shorter than his siblings, and more muscular. Patrick was the most athletic of his family, having played Quidditch back when he was at Hogwarts (some three years earlier) and now he had taken up rugby, to impress a muggle girl he had met in London.

It was nearly twenty minutes before anyone else arrived. And when they did, they arrived almost together, as one extremely large group.

First, Sirius came. He was grinning broadly and had a joyous bounce to his step. His black hair was long and pulled back from his face with a smoky-colored ribbon that matched his robes and resembled his eyes. He was still thin, but had refilled himself out from his years in Azkaban and from his time on the run. Ever since Voldemort's defeat and the revealing of Pettigrew, Sirius had been working at Hogwarts. He was teaching a new class; it was called 'Wandless Magic', and it was very popular, which was mainly due to a large portion of the female students being attracted to him. He wasn't the only one of the old crowd teaching at Hogwarts. Remus had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts, again. Harry was teaching Transfiguration. And Draco Malfoy, like Sirius, was teaching a new course; which he called "Magical Rites, Rituals, and Traditions'. Both Sirius and Remus (and his family) had become family to all the Weasleys and most of the youngest Weasleys never hesitated to call them Uncles.

Bill and Fleur came in together, hand in hand. Their two sons followed. Both boys were now out of school.

Julian and Luc both had bright blonde hair, not the white blonde of their mother, but still bright, and blue eyes. They spoke six languages between them, both were fluent in French and English. Both had left Hogwarts and were working in an international sect for the Ministry of Magic and had been overseas for the past year. No one had seen them in just as long, because they were unable to get away for the Christmas holiday. The two blonde boys immediately set about the yard, hugging and kissing their grandmother, aunts, and cousins on their cheeks and shaking hands of uncles and male cousins. Neither could escape hugging their grandfather when they found him.

Bill and Fleur ventured over past the food table (now hidden under towering plates of brownies, vegetables and sandwiches. Not to mention bowls of potatoes and salads) and deposited a wrapped package on the gift table next to Sirius' haphazardly wrapped bundle. Next to Hermione, at the opposite end of the yard, away from the tables and near the house, Molly grumbled about the length of Bill's hair, which was now set in a long ponytail a great way down his back. She seemed to be over her dislike of Fleur; she gave the girl respect that had been warranted after Bill's grapple with lycanthropy. Bill had managed to make himself presentable, despite the hard time they allknew he'd had on with the full moon the night before.

Molly was just as motherly now as she had ever been. She scolded and coddled just the same. But she was getting quite on in years. Her wrinkles had wrinkles. Her hair was streaked with gray and white. She was hunched slightly and though she adamantly denied it, she didn't hear as well as she once had.

Arthur had found that grandchildren suited him well. They made him feel young again, though he certainly didn't look it. He adored showing them his collection of muggle tools and for the most part they adored seeing them. Arthur's hair was also graying. But unlike his wife, he managed to remain upright, and could hear just fine.

Fred and George arrived with their wives and former housemates Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. They had four children between than and Molly was disappointed that neither had had twins. She had wanted twins for them both so that Fred and George could understand what it had been like for her and Arthur to cope with. Fred and George's business, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, had branched from their solitary store to twelve worldwide, four of which were located in the United Kingdom. They had expanded their staff too. They no longer had to travel themselves to all the stores and instead had been able to hire witches and wizards who could do that for them.

They werebothhappily successful, as were their wives. Katie, George's wife, was a Healer at St. Mungo's. She worked very closely with children who had gotten hold of their parents' wands and had unintentionally performed magic on one another. Angelina, Fred's wife, played Quidditch professionally. She was a brilliant chaser and had scored over a thousand points (with 108 goals) last season. She played for the Holyhead Harpies, League Champions three years running.

George and Katie had two children. Their son, Gregory, was fourteen and determined to go into the family business; though he didn't know which. His sister, Kathleen, Kat for short, was sixteen now. She was a prefect and a bit of a snob according to her brother. She was in contention for the Head Girl position, in the year that would follow her sixth and as far as she was concerned, no one was going to stand in her way.

Fred and Angelina's son was preparing for the upcoming Hogwarts Quidditch Season. He played Chaser, like his mother for Gryffindor. As his housemate and fellow Chaser, Louise Waitts, was a seventh year, there was little doubt in Alexander's mind that she would be captain and that he would most likely be given that responsibility in the next year. Alexander's fifteen year old sister, Frankie, had just been made a prefect. She had spent the last two weeks analyzing the entire Hogwarts rule book, to make sure that no a single school deviant tried to feed her a line that the rule they had just breached wasn't really a rule.

Though Gregory, Kat, Frankie, and Alexander were only cousins, many students in the school confused who was whose brother or sister. It was fairly ridiculous, because Alexander and Frankie both had light tan colored skin, as a result of their father's pale and their mother darker hues.

Hagrid arrived by apparating; something he did often, now that he could. He shook the ground when he landed.

After Voldemort's death, the Ministry had been convinced by Dumbledore that all those witches and wizards who had been personally affected at some point in their lives by Lord Vodemort's wrong doings should be compensated for it.

Hagrid had been allowed to have his wand restored, because Voldemort had framed him, and told everyone that it was Hagrid who had been responsible for the beast in the Chamber of Secrets. Hagrid, though much older now than when Harry, Hermione and the Weasley's had been in school, was still his enormous height and weight. His age was beginning to show somewhat in the wrinkles on his face and hands. Whether his hair was combed or not, no one could say; it was just a mass of black wiry curls. The younger children (Cassia and all those younger) swarmed around Hagrid, tugging on his large hands and dragging him around the yard, insisting that he show them magic and tell them stories.

Finally, at long last, ten minutes after two o'clock, Harry came ambling through the yard, blinded by a charm Ginny had placed on him. He was smiling, obviously not at all fooled by what was supposed to be a surprise. His kids had already run off into the house where the youngest of the cousins had gathered, playing with their grandfather's muggle trinkets and gadgets.

Harry looked nearly exactly as he had when he left Hogwarts. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and shocking messy, black hair. Though his eyes were shut, everyone knew behind his lids were bright, emerald eyes. Harry had filled out somewhat over the years, with age, but he was still skinnier than Molly Weasley thought was healthy. His cheeks were never as round and smooth as they had once been. Instead, his cheeks always seemed to have a thin layer of stubble on them, despite how many times Harry shaved it off. He had a strong jaw line that was set stoically. The ex-auror had learned to hide emotions when he really needed it, but now was not the time at all.

Ginny had aged gracefully. She was slender, her body widening imperceptibly at her hips. She kept her fiery red hair long, and down her back. Her brown eyes were hardly ever incensed and seemed to be filled with merriment instead. She smiled more often than she did anything else. It appeared that nothing ever bothered her, but when one of her kids crossed the thick line from behaved to misbehaved she was quick with her wand due to her temper.

James, was eleven and looked like Harry, but was certainly shorter and without the glasses. His eyes were his mother's brown. James' hair was unruly at its best. The biggest difference between James and Harry (when he was eleven) was that James wasn't as skinny or underfed. He still had a good amount of his baby fat attached to his cheeks and legs.

Lily did not have the appearance of her late grandmother at all. She was dark haired and dark eyed. She was a year younger than James and just as tall. She was thinner than her brother too. If James liked something, than Lily loved it and if James loved it, Lily hated it. They fought on a daily basis (usually away from their mother).

The youngest Potter was Mac, full name Marc Arthur. Mac was a Weasley all over. He had the red hair, the freckles, and the hot headedness. He couldn't blush or be angry without his entire face burning pink. He was tall for his age and promised to be much taller than both his older siblings. He had Harry's eyes and penchant for mischief.

Everyone still in the backyard, moved in a staggered circle closer to Harry. They were all shooting smiles at each other, and grinning at Harry. As silent as they could manage, they crept up to Harry and watched Ginny as she mouthed 'one-two-three'. All together they shouted, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY', at the same moment Ginny had released Harry's eyes of the spell. No one could keep from grinning.

* * *

Late in the evening when the twenty-five and younger crowd had dragged the grandparents off to watch a make-shift Quidditch tournament between several hand picked teams, and Hagrid had departed with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, who arrived just and hour earlier, the second generation (Harry and the Weasley boys, etc) had separated into two groups. The men sat in the yard sipping butterbeers and firewhiskies. The women sat in the Burrow's family room. The discussions had both turned to the birds and the bees, as they were prone to do. 

"You know what I don't understand," Katie asked aloud. She sat on one of the three high back armchairs, facing the long, red sofa that seated four.

"What's that," Hermione asked politely, from the end of the red couch. All the wives turned to look at the blond Katie.

"Why is it that men can be so oddly poetic when talking to their kids about sex, but can't manage to find the words to say anything on your birthday or Valentine's Day," Katie looked around at all of the women. "You know what I mean?"

"Oh I know what you are talking about," Fleur said excitedly from next to Hermione. Her English had much improved over the years. The focus in the room shifted to her. "When it came time for Bill to talk to Julian and Luc about it, I leestened at the door. 'E used all types of metaphors and zimiles. The one I can remember best is ze one about Quidditch. 'E told the boys, 'e told them that when a man is in ze course, 'is member has become like a quaffle punch searching forth and back for a repeated golden 'oop."

There was a moment of silence in which all the women tried to understand what Fleur had just said. Ginny got it first.

"Oh," she shouted, "Oh. The motion of intercourse is like punching the quaffle repeatedly back and forth through a goal hoop."There were several 'ohs' and giggles.

Fleur's indignant cry of, "I just zaid that' went unnoticed.

Penelope cleared her throat, smiling kindly at the room, until everyone looked to her.

"Percy managed to make it sound like a battle."

"A battle," Tonks asked, obviously and righfully confused.The women began to smile in anticipation for the story.

"He told Sammy and Henry that sex should be about protocol. First, you had to know the other party involved well. Then you had to make plans and strategies, try and figure out your position, their position, and then which angle to begin at."

Premature giggles were creeping out everywhere.

"He told them that their wands should be at the ready and that instead of attacking, they were going to sheath their wands into the second party. He said that if it was the first time, it would be uncomfortable, neither side would be quite sure of what was happening or if things were running smoothly and to not be surprised if the first time got a little bloody."

Laughter exploded all over the room.

Outside, the men were bent over laughing at a rather crude joke of Fred's. Ron was wiping his mouth from his spewed butterbeer.

"You know, I don't envy Ron and Harry in these upcoming years with their boys," admitted Bill, still grinning from the joke. Harry and Ron shot each other confused looks. "I can't imagine either of you having to explain sex to James and Braden, then Mac and Evan."

"I think they might do alright, as long as they don't insert that joke anywhere in the speech," Sirius spoke up. He poked Ron in the ribs with his elbow, rather hard, too. There was another round of laughter. Then everyone started lobbying their advice.

"It's best to get themall out of the way as soon as you can, less chance for humiliation," Remus suggested. Bill agreed wholeheartedly.

"Maybe you should find out what they know about it first, and then fill in the gaps," George offered.

"No. No. You have to relate it to something they'll understand; like Quidditch or procedures," Percy quipped.

"Maybe we should just hire the Daily Prophet to write an article, do away with the whole talking part of it," Ron mumbled to Harry as Sirius went into detail about how it was explained to him.

Back indoors, the topic had changed. The mood had become somber, after the last round of giggles.

"Did you read in the Daily Prophet about those murders in Versailles," Angelina asked, cautiously, from the second of the high back chairs. There was a general affirmative murmuring from the women. "The Aurors on the case are saying they're directly related to those ones a month ago in Italy. They think whomever is doing them is moving towards England or Spain."

"It's awful. Can you imagine coming home and finding all that…," Tonks trailed off, not needing to supply the rest. It wasn't really a question, justa posed thought for everyone to mull over.

Outside again, the men were discussing the murders as well.

"That makes seven so far. And the Aurors suspect they'll be more," Harry told the group of quieted men. "They think they know the connection too; what message the maniac responsible is trying to send."

"What's that," Fred asked. Harry said nothing for a moment.

"He thinks that there's an army forming or something. He thinks that everyone whose half or less are going to join up and try and take over the wizarding world. He thinks the army might try and kill anyone 'above them in blood status."

"How'd they figure that out," Bill questioned. Harry took a sip of his drink. He stillhad friends in the Auror office who filled him in on the goings on.

"A French muggle heard a few of this guy's men talking. Went right to the police, he did."

"Oh," Fred said in response. "So, it's another blood purist with a band of crazies at his beck and call." Then sarcastically he added,"Great."

No one said anything for the longest time. They were all thinking hard. It was almost impossible to find a pureblood who had married a pureblood or a muggleborn who had married a muggleborn. Nearly the entire Wizarding world was in danger of this crazed man with his deranged ideas and disgusting ways of spreading out his 'message'. Nearly everyone was at risk because hardly anyone was pureblooded any more. He was going to think nearly the entire world were potentially forming an army to kill purebloods.

In the back of everyone's mind (in the house or outside of it)was a lingering and daunting question; was this going to get better or worse first?

* * *

So now I've introduced almost all of the new characters and given an update of what's happened to almost everyone after the war.

Key word is almost... There's still more people to meet and some loose ends to tie.

I've introduced the bad guy, vaguely. He's a completely antisocial and paranoid, I'll get to that more much much later. And what Tonks says in reference to the murders will be completed later on in this story.

Any questions about the story should be included in the review or e-mailed to me and I'll answer as many as I can.

Cheers and love, y'all.

TNGoH

**Joe and Izzy:** As always thank you for the review. I hope this isn't as slow as the previous one, but then again, I'm never sure how good a critic I am of my own writing. I hope you keep reading AND reviewing. I love reading what you have to say about the story.


	6. Let the Journey Begin

Read the disclaimer at the very beginning and Chapter 4: Packed, Pecked, Picked, Poked to get up to speed.

* * *

**Words: **6,101 words **Pages:** 22 pages

* * *

**Chapter 5: Let the Journey Begin**

**_September 1st_**

Today was the day. Or rather today was the morning.

In any case, nothing that had happened had been a dream or a terrible joke. Ms. Granger had really come over two months ago and told them that they had magical powers and were going to a special school to learn all sorts of neat things. And they had gone to a fantastic place called Diagon Alley, to buy supplies. And they had seen goblins and magical tape measures and gotten wands and bought an owl.

It was real. It was all real.

Morgan jumped from the family car, as soon as it had pulled into a parking space at King's Cross Station. She ignored her mother's shouts that she should have waited for the car to stop moving. Who on earth would wait for something like that when they were about to embark on a journey so bizarre and utterly wonderful?

Winston finished parking the car and moved to open the trunk. He pulled out the first new school trunk, then struggled to get the second. Betsy commandeered two trolley carts from the front of the station over to the car. Together, with Winston, Betsy managed to hoist the trunks onto the carts.

Morgan led her family into the massive building. She was looking for the platform, surprised that out of all the times she had been in King's Cross she had never once seen a gate that led to a school of Magic. She didn't much care that she hadn't seen it before, because she was going to see it now. Margaret was somewhere behind her, with their parents. She could hear them. Margaret's trolley cart had very squeaky wheels. Betsy was calling for Morgan to slow down. And her father, Winston, seemed to be having trouble getting the twins' new owl, to keep quiet in his cage. Morgan supposed the black and brown Demetrius was just as excited as she was.

Morgan looked to her left. Nope, there wasn't a sign advertising Hogwarts School there. She looked to her right. Not a sign there either. She moved further forward. She looked left then right; nothing. She didn't see anything. She moved forward some more, still well ahead of everyone else. Morgan looked everywhere. Then, when she had reached the very end, she turned around and looked again. She took long looks at each section she passed.

A businessman in a gray suit stepped aboard the A220. A group of young women in Manchester United shirts posed in front of their train. A family disappeared into a barrier. A man and woman climbed onto-. Wait a minute!

Morgan whirled around and stood in front of the last section she had seen. Six people were standing there. An elderly couple, and two adults, she didn't recognize either of them, and two children. The kids both had reddish hair. The girl looked older than the boy, but he was almost just as tall. They both had trunks that looked exactly like Margaret and Morgan's. Morgan watched as the two kids stepped away from the four adults and ran straight at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

They were crazy. They had to be. Morgan opened her mouth to shout at them, but one second later, both kids vanished behind the solid wall. Morgan's mouth remained gaping open. Margaret came up to her a moment later, followed closely by Betsy and Winston.

"What're you looking at," Margaret asked her twin. Morgan's mouth open and closed repeatedly. She didn't make a sound.

"Morgan, are you alright," Betsy questioned. She placed a hand over Morgan's forehead, feeling for a temperature.

"I-I saw. They- they just. Gone. Ran right at it. And just. The next moment. Gone," Morgan rambled. She pointed at the wall and then made an incoherent motion using both hands to indicate something running into another thing. Winston frowned. Morgan was so looking forward to Hogwarts, but if she was sick, then she would miss a few days. She'd be upset beyond reason.

"Hey, mum. There's Mr. Weasley," Margaret announced. Betsy looked up over towards Margaret had indicated. It was the same place Morgan was fixated on. Indeed, Mr. Weasley was there. He was hard to miss, what with his vibrant red hair and tall frame. The Wood family watched as the elderly couple and the dark woman next to Mr. Weasley walked at the barrier between both platforms. Not one of the four Woods could manage to keep their mouths from dropping. At least Morgan knew she hadn't dreamed that first occurrence. But maybe she had; maybe she was dreaming that one too.

The man Margaret had called Mr. Weasley turned around where he stood as if looking for someone. He spotted the Woods, staring at him in shock. He grinned widely and waved to them. Still, unsure about what they had just seen, they all shuffled forward, hesitantly.

"Good morning," Mr. Weasley greeted cheerfully. He clapped Mr. Wood on his back, shaking Winston's free hand with his own. "The train leaves in half an hour. You should probably have enough time to get a compartment if you hurry." Mr. Weasley motioned towards the brick wall in front of them. The Woods looked at it, none of them making a move forward.

"Where _is_ the train," Margaret queried. Mr. Weasley's shoulders slumped. He looked at each person, confused. They were all confused.

"Why, it's just beyond the barrier," Mr. Weasley told them, with a small smile. He gestured at the wall, again. "You just walk right through and there you are."

Morgan turned to face Mr. Weasley, her eyes large and round.

"You mean you want us to walk into a bunch of bricks?" Mr. Weasley flushed. Once again, Morgan ignored her mother's scolding of 'Morgan, really, now?'

"No, no. The wall; it's not solid. You can walk right through it and you won't get hurt." Morgan looked at him skeptically. "I'll go first if you'd like."

Morgan didn't even bother to check with any of her family about what they wanted to do.

No one objected.

Mr. Weasley strode forward from behind the Woods. He stood in front of the wall, and then motioned the Woods to join him. When they were all gathered around him, he brought an arm in front and passed his hand through the bricks. His hand had completely disappeared.

Betsy gasped, loudly and stepped back into her husband, who stood completely still, staring, dumbfounded at Mr. Weasley's handless arm. Margaret's eyes seemed ready to pop out of her head, they were so large.

Morgan, however, was not going to show any surprise, whether she felt it or not. Instead, she brought her own up and held it out in front of her, her palm parallel to the brick wall. Mr. Weasley removed his hand, making his arm whole again. Morgan closed her brown eyes tight and moved a step forward. Her family all sucked in anxious breaths, then let out a collective sigh when they saw that Morgan was perfectly fine; except most of her arm had gone into the brick barrier. Morgan stared at her odd looking form positioned in the wall. She brought her arm out, held her hand close to her face and wiggled her fingers.

With a large smile, Morgan looked around at everyone.

"Neat," She declared.

Mr. Weasley stepped back from the wall. The Wood family followed him until they were several meters away from the barrier.

"Now, it's best to go through at a run, the first time, takes the edge off," Mr. Weasley explained. "Who's going first?"

While her family stood staring at each other and murmuring amongst themselves, Morgan pushed her cart forward a bit. It was quite obvious to her that no one else wanted to run at a wall first. Morgan volunteered. Mr. Weasley clapped her on the back, pushing her forward a foot or so.

Morgan was positively bouncing with anticipation. The platform for the train that would take her (and Margaret) to magic school was just beyond that wall. Morgan could hardly wait to see it.

She took a fleeting glance at her parents, both of whom were trying their hardest to not appear worried. Looking at Margaret, Morgan mirrored her sister's frown. The anxious look on Margaret's face was enough to make Morgan feel awful about all the arguments they had had in the past two months. They had fought over who got which of the identical trunks, over who got to name the owl, and even whose wand looked better. More than once this summer, Morgan had reduced her sister to watery eyes and sniffling.

Morgan immediately felt apologetic, but she wouldn't allow herself to confront her sister and actually say the words; 'I'm sorry'. It wasn't her style. It took more effort on her part to apologize than it did to run a mile uphill.

Margaret must have felt Morgan's gaze, because she looked over at her. The concerned look was still etched on her face. Morgan gathered all her courage, squared her shoulders, and smiled at Margaret enthusiastically. Morgan hoped that the grin would, if only temporarily, put her twin at ease.

Once Margaret did indeed look a bit more relaxed, Morgan gave her family and Mr. Weasley a short wave. She turned toward the barrier and took a deep breath. She gripped the handle on her trolley cart, tightly. Then, she took off at a run; nearly sprinting towards the wall between platforms nine and ten.

The barrier was looming closer and closer. And Morgan could swear it began to look even more solid with every step nearer. She refused to balk or blink. With her cart barely a foot from the entryway, Morgan heard her mother gasp, and Morgan slammed her eyes shut.

She surged forward.

Nothing happened.

It was seconds well after the time, Morgan should have crashed. She opened her eyes wide. She was still standing. She was perfectly fine; alive and unharmed. After her initial shock, Morgan found herself elated at the sight of a scarlet steam engine just to her right. Above her head, swaying on a cast iron bar, which was jutting from a brick wall, was a battered wooden sign bearing the name 'Platform 9 ¾' in shiny gold. Morgan moved away from the wall and down the outside of the train where the words 'Hogwarts Express' was emblazoned on the crimson metal.

Behind her, in the place that she just vacated, Margaret and her parents appeared with Mr. Weasley. The Woods were all breathing hard and Mr. Weasley was standing off to the side, twirling his wand between his fingers, coolly. He was smiling. They were all smiling.

* * *

Mr. Weasley ushered the twins onto the train after Betsy and Winston had given their praise to Margaret, a brief lecture on behavior expectations to Morgan and words of encouragement (along with many hugs and kisses) to both. The train's whistle hooted, loudly and with a jolt, started forward extremely slow. The twins hung out the doorway of the cable car, waving and shouting good-bye. They both turned away when Betsy choked in the middle of her farewell, turning it into a sob. 

They stood in the long narrow hall of the train, compartments on either side of them. The twins held onto their trunks, tightly. Morgan hoisted Demetrius in his cage up onto Margaret's trunk, making it impossible for her sister to see ahead of her. Morgan managed to maneuver her own trunk ahead of her.

"Okay, James should be around here somewhere," Morgan told Margaret. "Just, you know, follow the sound of my voice, yeah?"

Without waiting for an answer, Morgan started forward. Margaret followed, careful to stop whenever Morgan said to. It was several minutes, before Morgan stopped for good.

"Ah, he's in here, Mag".

Morgan pushed open the glass and wood compartment door. The two boys inside turned towards the door to see who had interrupted their Quidditch discussion. Morgan pulled her trunk into the compartment without an invitation.

Margaret stood on tip toes to peer over Morgan's shoulder. She wanted a good look at Morgan's friend James Potter. She had read the name Potter a lot since June. In the books that she had found the surname Potter it was only in reference to Harry Potter.

The Herstry books, Greatest Witches and Wizards of the Past 200 Years and Greatest Wizarding Events of The Past 200 Years, had mentioned Harry Potter's parents, their deaths, and his marriage and kids, very briefly, never more than a page total. But they spent and entire twenty-two pages discussing the man that was Potter. And to be quite fair, Harry Potter's parents were mentioned again whenever The Dark Lord came up.

Mr. Weasley was mentioned quite a bit too. Both he and his wife, Hermione Granger, had chapters of their own in both books. Mr. Weasley's chapter detailed his work with his large family. The Weasley family aided both Harry Potter in his victory over Lord Voldemort and The Order of the Phoenix in their capture of escaped Death Eaters from the Prison, Azkaban.

Hermione Granger, the woman who had introduced the Wood Family to Magic, impressed Margaret a great deal. Both Herstry books reveled in the woman's intellect. She had nearly ten pages devoted to her school grades, test scores, and research methods.

Harry Potter and his friends were also mentioned in Hogwarts, A History. The book detailed the trio's years and made them out to be heroes in training. The book described the safe return of Flamel's Stone, the finding of the Chamber of Secrets, the defeat of Slytherin's ancient basilisk, the Triwizard Tournament, the Ministry Raid, and the first attack on Hogwarts by Voldemort.

It was at the beginning of the thirty-seven page chapter of the Golden Trio that Margaret found herself paying the most attention. There had been a picture of a seventeen year old Harry Potter, laughing with his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. After her visit to Diagon Alley, Margaret had not been at all surprised that the picture was moving. She was however, astonished to see the picture in detailed and precise coloring, done with magical ink, she was sure.

Harry was sitting on a patch of grass, between his friends, in dead center of the image, grinning happily. Margaret was more than entranced, she was besotted. Harry Potter was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen. He looked tall (though he was sitting), and wiry with strength. His face was angular with maturity. He had shocking black hair that looked terribly messy. And his eyes were the most gorgeous green Margaret could ever imagine.

Margaret wanted very much to meet Mr. Harry Potter. She knew he was a teacher, now. He taught the subject of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, and Margaret knew he had opted for transfiguration instead of any other subject (like Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he obviously excelled in) because he found that once he had time to relax after the Second Great War, that he had quite a knack for it.

Looking over Morgan, and into the compartment, Margaret saw Braden Weasley, the boy who had thought Margaret and Betsy were related to a wizard athlete. He had spotted her too, and after looking between herself and Morgan several times, offered Margaret the tiniest and most uncertain smile of recognition he could muster. Standing up, across the compartment from Braden was James Potter (it had to be him, as Morgan had said he was in here and he was the only other person present).

He didn't look anything like Margaret had hoped. He wasn't very tall. And he wasn't as thin as his father had looked in the picture. His face was disappointingly boyishly round. His hair was the same jet black as Harry's and just as unkempt. And perhaps, the biggest disappointment of all was his eyes. They weren't green. There wasn't even a hint of green. They were brown. Just plain old brown. Not even a light brown like her own and Morgan's, but a deep brown, not quite black, but close enough.

"Hi, James," Morgan said. She stood on the padded seat and heaved her luggage up next to her, before struggling to get it up on the racks above her head.

James looked at Morgan astonished. He had never seen a person secure their luggage by themselves before. Especially not a girl. The older students used a spell. And those who didn't know of one, had help from their friends. It had taken him, Braden and Cassie to get Braden's and his own trunk up on the racks.

Braden hurried to help Margaret. He grabbed Demetrius in his cage and passed it to James. Then he and Margaret pushed her trunk up next to the others. When everyone climbed down from the seats, James looked at the twins, his eyes darting back and forth between them. It seemed he couldn't decide who it was he wanted to talk to. He settled on some point between them.

"So, you've made it, then?" James was grinning at them, sort of. He was more grinning above them. Morgan struggled not to laugh.

"This is Margaret," Morgan introduced. Margaret shook both James' hand, before sitting down on the seat opposite the trunks. She slid all the way towards the window and smiled politely at Braden, who slid in next to her. Morgan and James sat down across from them. Now settled, the quartet began to talk about what they could expect for the school year.

It wasn't at all long before the conversation turned to Quidditch. Margaret tried her hardest to be polite and not yawn or roll her eyes. She had heard enough about Quidditch to last her a lifetime. Morgan and their father had taken to discussing it whenever possible. They talked about it over dinner, at breakfast, while the twins did their chores, during the news. To be quite frank if Margaret never heard about bluggers (whatever they were) again, it would be far too soon.

"Do you think the Harpies have a chance to win the League this year," Morgan asked of the boys. Both boys snapped their mouths shut, not realizing that Morgan could possibly know very much about Quidditch.

"They haven't won in a while. Loads of people think they're overdue. And now that they've signed Gladys Gilroy from Kenmare, they've got a decent shot at it," Braden told Morgan. Morgan seemed exceptionally pleased by this.

Margaret remembered her father and Morgan listening to some man talk about the Quidditch teams on their brand new Wizarding Wireless Radio a while ago. Both Morgan and her father thought they might like to support a team and after hearing that the Holyhead Harpies only hired witches, Morgan declared that that was the team they would root for.

"But not even having Gilroy will help you against Puddlemere. Especially now that Wood's come out of retirement," James reasoned. The comment spurred an argument between Morgan and the boys.

Margaret could not take it any longer. She grabbed hold of her school book satchel and shimmied herself from behind Braden and walked to the door.

"I'm going to find some place to read," She told them.

"Yeah, that's great, Mag, really." Morgan couldn't have sounded any less aware if she had tried.

With a great huff, Margaret left the compartment and walked away.

* * *

­­"But what if the Keeper throws the Quaffle to a Chaser and at the same time a nearby Beater hits a Bludger and can't stop the swing and winds up hitting the Chaser by mistake," Morgan wondered aloud. James couldn't answer as he was still laughing at Morgan previous scenario that involved a Seeker, the Snitch, and ripped trousers. Braden, however, had calmed himself down enough to answer. 

"I think it's still a foul. Hitting someone with a Beater's Bat isn't so easy to mistake as an accident even if you didn't mean it," Braden explained.

The boys were saved anymore of Morgan's questions with the arrival of a wizened old witch and a food cart full of sweets.

"Anything off the cart, dears," The tiny witch asked. James nearly ran over to her. He began rummaging through brightly colored packages on the top. Braden had stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, looking for the spare change his father had given him. Morgan grabbed her own school bag, identical to Margaret's, and rifled through it quickly. Morgan and Braden found their coins at the same time and approached the food cart together.

Morgan had never seen such odd looking food before. Their several light green cellophane bags stuffed with hundreds of tiny white candies that resembled beetles, boxes of a brand of gum she had never hear of, cartons of jelly beans, bags of gummy slugs, and funny smelling lollipops were stood neatly in tight little rows. There was so much more.

Morgan had no idea what any of this stuff was, but the boys seemed to think all of it was good, because they were loading up their arms quickly. Items were disappearing quickly. Morgan made a very rash decision to try a little of everything and soon she too was grabbing at candies quickly.

"Do you have anything to drink?" Morgan looked at the witch expectantly. She took out a brown glass bottle.

"How many do you want," the witch asked. Morgan looked behind her at the boys, who had already paid and were digging into their snacks with abandon. They hadn't bought any drinks, they had probably forgot to even think about buying a soda what with all the candy in full view.

"Four," she told the witch. "And I've got everything I'll need." Morgan listened carefully to the witch as she rattled off Morgan's purchases.

"Four butterbeers, two boxes of Droobles' Best Blowing Gum, of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and of Ice Mice, two Chocolate Frogs, two Acid Pops, two packages of Mint Humbugs, of Jelly Slugs, of Fizzing Whizbees, of Cauldron Cakes, and of Pumpkin Pastilles… That comes to two galleons, seven sickles, and a knut".

Once she had paid, Morgan separated her huge pile in half. One pile for herself and one for Margaret. She placed one bottle of butterbeer in each pile and handed one each to Braden and James.

"Hey, Fanks," James spoke through a mouthful of half-chewed cake.

"You sure eat a lot," Braden told her, looking over at her separated piles. "We'll get dinner up at the castle, you know".

"Oh, I know. One's for you, Maggie," Morgan turned from Braden to speak to Margaret. Margaret wasn't there. Morgan frowned in confusion. When had Margaret left? She couldn't remember. When was she coming back? Was she coming back?

"I think she went to read somewhere else," Braden spoke up.

Morgan frowned. Why hadn't Margaret said anything? She picked up Margaret's pile and headed for the door.

"I'll be right back." She told the boys. Then as an after thought she added, "Don't eat my food".

Margaret wasn't in either of the next compartments. In fact, she wasn't in the back half of the train at all. Morgan walked nearly the entire length of the train, before she found her sister. She walked past kids playing card games, or chess, past kids sleeping, and couples kissing. She found Margaret near the very front of the train, in a compartment with five other students about their age, all of them were reading.

Morgan didn't bother to knock, she just slid open the door and sat herself down right next to a blonde haired boy and glasses. He was the closest to the door and closest to Margaret. He sat all the way back in his seat and had brought the enormous book he was reading up to his face so that it was less than half an inch from his nose.

"Maggie, when did you leave?" Morgan sat forward and leant over the blonde boys' lap. Margaret looked up quickly and turned to face Morgan. A small girl in the corner by the window gave a furious 'SSSHH"! Morgan scowled at the girl's profile.

"I've been here for nearly two hours," Margaret whispered. Morgan sat back a little and tried to remember two hours ago. She couldn't remember Margaret leaving.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Morgan asked angrily. Another 'SSSHH' came from the window.

"I did, you said 'okay'," Margaret answered back, quietly.

"Oh. Well, I brought you some food and something to drink."

Margaret tried not to roll her eyes. Typical Morgan; getting mad about what she thought had happened but when she found out she was wrong she didn't apologize she just dismissed it as if it never occurred.

Morgan passed the pile of food she had been holding in her arms over to her twin. She was still a little mad that she hadn't noticed Margaret leave, but she wasn't going to start a fight right now. She noticed that Margaret had slipped on her school robes. Morgan felt guilty that she hadn't even noticed Margaret take her clothes out of her trunk.

"So, you've changed already?"

"Yeah, and you should too, I expect we'll be arriving shortly," Margaret whispered. She bit into an orange candy and went back to her book.

"Oh. Right, yeah. I'll see you, then," Morgan said to her sister, as she stood up. The girl in the corner let out a hissing 'SSSSSHHH'! Instead of yelling at the girl to 'Stuff It' as she would have liked to, Morgan walked out and slammed the sliding door hard. She glared directly at the girl in the corner, who was so startled by the noise that she dropped her book onto the floor and squeaked in surprised.

On the way back to her own compartment, Morgan tried not to be angry that Margaret had left their compartment, and that she had found a group she seemed to like better than James and Braden, and that she had left her alone.

* * *

Nearly a quarter of a day had passed when the scarlet Hogwarts Express slowed to a halt just outside Hogsmeade Station. James and Braden led Morgan out into the train's corridor. Students of all ages stood in front of them, slowly filing out the doors. The boys stopped her from turning back into the compartment to retrieve her trunk and then stopped her again from getting the owl. 

"Everything is left on the train and during dinner it's taken up to the school," Braden explained. They followed the crowd down the train's metal steps.

Hogsmeade Station was much smaller than King's Cross, but just as impressive. It was made of large gray and red stones that fit together like jigsaw pieces. The windows held large squares of glazed glass panes. And the roof and trim were a deep, rich crimson. Most impressive to Morgan, at least, was that the entire building seemed almost alive. It was nearly pulsing to some unknown beat.

"Firs' Years!"

It was a booming call, from high above their heads. Several other new students, the smallest, of the large crowd, craned their necks and cast about looking for the person who had called.

"Fir's Years, this way!"

Braden and James shared an excited look. Morgan, being far more daring and curious than anyone else by far, did not wait for her friends nor for her sister (whom she had not seen in hours), before walking forward, swiftly. A look of pure determination overtook her features and she moved towards the shouter.

"Firs' Years. Firs' Years, over here."

Morgan sped up, dodging past older students and winding her way through the slower walkers. She duck and wove quickly, following the sound of the voice calling for First Years. She saw an opening up ahead of her. The older students were moving off to their extreme rights and lefts, leaving a wide berth in between them, large enough for a car. Morgan surged forward and looked up. She stopped moving immediately.

There, in front of her, standing up at a height far greater than a small house, was a man. An enormous man. He was so tall that Morgan had to take several steps backwards in order to see him properly. He was wide too. Morgan imagined that if she halved his height his width would be an almost perfect match for it.

He was massive and his clothes were too. He wore a long, heavy coat, made out of several animals' skins; it was probably as big as a bead spread. He had old and worn black boots that were nearly a meter or so long. His belt looked like the rough rubber of semi truck's tire.

And though this man was tall, and seemed to frighten some of the other new students standing beside her, Morgan was unafraid. He had a massive round stomach that Morgan had only before associated with Father Christmas, and a round, wrinkled face. Behind his thick, bushy black beard, he was smiling, so much, that the skin around his deep set black eyes was crinkled.

"Wow," Morgan gasped out. The giant man looked down at her. Morgan gave a wide smile and waved up at him. "Hello," She said politely.

The giant man laughed. It was deep and boisterous. His whole body shook in amusement. He bent down so that he was only a few feet taller than her instead of six.

"Hullo," He said in his great booming voice.

"I'm Morgan Wood," Morgan told the giant, she offered him her hand. The giant looked down at it in surprised amusement, before gripping it and half her arm and shaking it in greeting.

"Professor Rubeus Hagrid".

James and Braden raced over to Morgan and Professor Hagrid. They grinned at their half-giant friend and flanked Morgan. Several other first year students followed the two of them at much slower paces and with a great deal more apprehension than excitement. Margaret was among them. She moved close to Morgan and like everyone else watched the giant man with wide eyes.

"Hiya, Hagrid," James greeted. "What brings you down here?"

"Miss Morgan Wood wanted to say 'hullo', s'all." Hagrid, who had been looking at James and Braden, looked back at Morgan to give her another smile. His grin faltered at seeing two identical faces staring up at him. "Blimey, there's two o' yeh? Wai' 'til Snape finds out."

Braden nudged James in the ribs with his elbow and they shared a mischievous grin. They seemed eager to see this Snape's reaction to the sisters.

"This is Margaret, she's my sister," Morgan introduced. The crowd of students had diminished to just over thirty. Hagrid offered his enormous meaty hand to Margaret.

"Margaret and Morgan Wood. 'S a pleasure to meet yeh both," Hagrid said politely. He shook Margaret's arm as he had Morgan's. He paused in his handshake and appeared to be in thought. He released Margaret's arm and peered at the girls, studying them. "Yer not related to Oliver Wood, are yeh?"

Before any of the crowd could process what Hagrid had said. Margaret, Morgan, James and Braden all nearly shouted, "No relation".

"Righto," Hagrid said, loudly. He stood up and more than half the first years gasped. If Hagrid seemed big to them when he was kneeling he seemed so much more foreboding at his full height. "I'm Professor Hagrid. I teach Care o' Magical Creatures. I 'ope to be seein' yeh in yer third year. But fer now, we're going to take a short walk to the lake. Then, we're goin' to take boats across it, and walk up ter the castle. It's a special treat fer Firs' Years on'y. Let's be off."

Hagrid started walking away from the train station. It was a moment or so before the group of young students ran after him. No one paid very much attention to what they were passing. Everyone was running after Professor Hagrid, silently, praying that they didn't fall behind and wind up lost wherever it was they were.

They turned left, then went down a hill, turned slightly right, then hopped over a ditch, walked up a hill, turned left, walked between stunted trees, and walked through a grove of massive oaks. The trees were three times Professor Hagrid's height, the size of a small factory building. Morgan couldn't see anything in around her. The sky peaking through the uppermost branches was a deep blue, nearly black, and stars were beginning to show.

Next to Morgan, Margaret hastened to keep up. Behind her, James and Braden were panting. Why was everyone so out of shape? Maybe all those hours of sprinting up and down the soccer pitch had paid off.

Suddenly, Hagrid stopped. Morgan, being the closest to him, ran into the back of his leg. Margaret banged into her, and Braden and James followed. And soon the whole group had either slammed into someone else or had been slammed into.

Hagrid turned around to see every first year rubbing sore spots on their bodies. "Sorry abou' that".

There was much grumbling in the back of the group. The students who had regained composure first had move to either side of Hagrid and as each one looked out at their unobstructed view, they gasped. Morgan moved quickly, wanting to see what the big deal was.

It was… big. Big and Beautiful. And Black. It was a large expanse of black; the lake. The water was calm and looked incredibly thick, like tar. The shore glowed in the moonlight, but the lake remained dark. And up above the lake on a cliff was an ancient, glowing castle; Hogwarts.

"Alrigh', there are the boats. Get in, hold up yer lamps, and I'll get us where we need to be. No more'n four ter a boat."

Morgan hadn't noticed the seven small tethered row boats. They were tied to the trunk of a near by oak. Morgan pushed Margaret forward, a silent command to grab a boat. Next, she turned and grabbed onto Braden and James' wrists and dragged them to the boat, Margaret had started to climb into.

The settled into the boat; Morgan in the back, Margaret next to James (they held the lamp between them), and Braden up front. Hagrid was in the boat next to them, by himself. He waited until the last student was seated, before tugging the lines free. He unsheathed a wand, nearly two feet long, and pointed it at the blackened water. The pond began to ripple and all at once the line of boats propelled slowly forward. Most students stared transfixed up at the castle. They pointed at the tall turrets and the towers with towers. The gawked at illuminated windows and at enlarged shadows that passed in front of them.

Morgan stared at the lake, cautiously. She adored and feared the water. It was the one thing she had ever really felt frightened of. But this water, as she was so close to it, though black and daunting, seemed harmless. Morgan brought a hand to its surface and ran her fingers over it. When she looked for a residue on hand, she found none. It was clear.

"Professor Hagrid, what's in the lake, like what lives in it?" Morgan sat up straight and looked over at the giant.

"Oh, lots of things, fish, grindlylows, merpeople, a giant squid."

"Merpeople?" Morgan wondered if they were friendly like the merpeople in the story books she and Margaret used to read.

"Yeah, half fish, half human. They have a whole city down there."

Morgan thought carefully about her next question. She wanted to know if the giant squid had ever eaten a student, but didn't know how to ask without scaring anybody. It wasn't exactly a question you could just blurt out.

Before she could even open her mouth, the boats slid onto shore and everyone was climbing out. Hagrid had already vacated and was setting a brisk pace up to the castle. This time, even Morgan had trouble keeping up with the Professor. The castle had to be on a hill, didn't it?

Hagrid stopped short, just as he had before and only half the group collided this time. Instead of fanning around Hagrid, the first years all stayed behind him, and looked up at the huge solid oak doors that led to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

Author's Note:

Righto, well, here it is, Chapter 5. This took a while for me to be happy with. I had it done a month ago and began working on Chapter 6, but I had this niggling feeling in the back of my head, like there was something wrong, so I stopped writing Chapter 6 and rewrote this one. Then I edited it, added, omitted, deleted a middle section, and wrote a new one. I'm twice as happy with this chapter as I was when I finished it the first time, so brownies for me. YAY!

I'm sorry to say that I slagged off on spell check... I hope (besides Hagrid's purposeful words) that nothing is too bad.

Now, I have to go back to writing chapter 6: which will have the sorting, descriptions of the new professors, meeting the Gryffindors, the first day or week of classes and possibly the first flying lesson.

Then, (Chapter 7) will be a break from the Wood Twins and be a semi Auror semi bad guy chapter, so we all understand why the bad man is a bad man and why it's important to catch him. I'm not gonna reveal all his secrets at once, but we'll see.

I've posted this chapter despite not having the next one done, but hopefully it won't take so long to finish.

Everyone should go back and read the notes, summary, disclaimer page, because I edited it a while ago…. Hopefully it fits the direction I'm going for now. I checked it just today and it did, so I hope you see the changes.

Eventually this story might have to be rated M, because the bad guy has issues and can't be given a low rating because I want readers. It wouldn't be very nice of me.

I've also decided that I'll probably only write the first, fifth and seventh years (and possibly and epilogue) but combine as one wicked long story instead of three separate ones, because I'm not sure how much detail I'm going to be going into in later chapters. If I hit over 25 chaps with Year on then each year will be a separate story.

* * *

And now for the Fank You's: 

**Joe and Izzy:** As always I am beyond thrilled to receive a new review from you. Thanks for taking the time to read my work and to review it, I appreciate it more than I can say. I'm not sure how well I detailed this in comparison to the last chapter and the ending might've come on too fast, but I hope you like it anyway. YAY!


	7. Sorting and Ensnaring

Read the disclaimer at the very beginning and Chapter 5: Let the Journey Begin to get up to speed.

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**Words: **7,716 words **Pages:** 29 pages

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**Chapter 6: **Sorting and Ensnaring

_September 1st (Evening)_

The inside of the front hall was amazing in Margaret's opinion. The whole castle was tall; she couldn't even see the ceiling. She was staring straight up and all she could see were staircases. Hundreds of long staircases. And some of them were moving. On their own! If she hadn't been expecting more magical surprises she would have gasped in shock, like so many other students were doing. All along the walls, near the staircases and all around the atrium, were portraits. Some were of wizards and some were of witches. Some smiled some scowled. And most of them were moving around craning their two-dimensional necks around to stare at the new students. They were whispering and pointing and waving.

Morgan stood too close to her. She hadn't left Margaret's side since the first years had journeyed to the boats, with the giant man, Professor Hagrid. In the front hall, just on the other side of the huge double doors, and awaiting further instructions the first years huddled together in a mass, trying to seem inconspicuous to a few of the more menacing looking portraits, who were glaring in their direction. Because the groups of students were so closely packed together, it felt as if Morgan was cemented to Margaret's elbow. It wasn't as if Margaret was going to disappear, though with as annoying as having Morgan so near to her, she was considering giving apparating a try.

As most of the first years were keeping a wary eye on the painted scenes, they didn't here the low, tinny voice that sounded above them.

"Ooooo! Ickle Firsties."

The owner of the voice was an oddly shaped floating man. His head looked like a pale pastel blue balloon. He wore a formal suit of a coat tails and trousers. Loafers adorned his feet. Apart from his head, he could have looked almost normal. That was if his suit hadn't been a horrible shade of puce and lilac.

"There is so many this year. Peevsie counts them; one- two- three- four."

The man was bobbing up and down with glee. He grinned like a maniac down at them. When he reached the number five, he hurled handfuls of brown mush at the crowd. One glob of goo landed with a resounding slap onto the upturned face of a round blonde boy. Every head turned to look at him. Then in a split second, everyone scrambled away from him, scattering all over the foyer.

James and Braden pushed the twins over by a suit of armor. They were out of the line of 'Peevsie's' fire, for the moment. The floating man was cackling as he launched a series of brown projectiles. The purple and puce suited poltergeist turned to face a small group of girls, who had sought refuge in a dark corner. Peevsie took up a hefty load of brown slime and started to wind up, but paused at the sound of a booming thunderous voice.

"PEEVES! OUT! NOW!"

This voice was cold and alarming. The man who had shouted looked ghostly. He was tall (certainly not as tall as the giant Hagrid) and thin. He stood high above the ground level and glared over at the levitated prankster. He looked vampiric, dressed in a long black robe with his dark hair and eyes and his pale skin.

Peeves, who had stilled the instant the thin man had bellowed, glared at the man in response and flung a handful of goop into the long dark hair of an Asian girl, before he zoomed off in a whirlwind. No one moved. What if the Peeves man came back? No one wanted to tempt him back by even breathing too loudly. But they all scrambled up the staircase when the sickly man barked out at them.

"Well! What are you waiting for? We're late!"

--

Standing a few stairs below the sickly looking man, Margaret was both pleased and annoyed to find that Morgan was still glued to her elbow. They stood in near the middle of the group with James and Braden in front of them and the shushing girl from Margaret's compartment to their immediate right. The seven students who had been victims of the Peeves had been pushed up to the very front and the tall thin man had waved his wand at them, cleaning them with a lick and flourish. They were practically shoved back into the crowd.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor Snape. I will attempt to teach you Potions, whether or not you learn anything will rest solely on how functional your brains are." Not one bit of his face moved when he spoke. Professor Snape's voice was not at all parallel to him as a person. It was strong and deep, resounding throughout the wide open spaces of the atrium, and he didn't look particularly strong or emotional, in fact if a word had to be given to describe Professor Snape, it would be disturbing.

He dressed in all black and it only highlighted his pale complexion. His sallow skin was pulled tightly over his face making him look like oiled leather. His hair was jet black and was grown to just an inch from his shoulders, it too was greasy looking. Professor Snape had beady eyes that were so dark they appeared black and looked tiny in comparison to his aquiline hooked nose. He seemed positively evil.

"In a few moments, I will lead you through these doors," he made an unnecessary gesture behind him. "Once in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. They are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor," he curled his thin lips in disgust, before giving the slightest hint of a smile at, "and Slytherin".

Professor Snape glared at them all, before turning on his heel and darting between the two doors. He shut them with an ominous thud. James and Braden exchanged a look with arching eyebrows. To Morgan the look stated clearly that Slytherin was not a desired place to be sorted. It sounded awful to her. And so did Professor Snape. He was all doom and gloom, not fun in the sun. So, if she had a choice, she would not be taking Potions. Anything to not have to be around Professor Snape.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Professor Snape returned, his long black robes sailing behind him. Every one of the first years stood taller, immediately. Professor Snape was one of those no nonsense people, Morgan could tell. She had a lot of experience with no nonsense people. Margaret was one.

"They're ready for you now." Snape said coldly. He turned his back to them, once more and laid his two narrow hands flat along the fronts of the doors and gave them a great shove, knocking them open.

Beyond the doors, from where the twins stood, they could see the Great Hall. It was large room, smaller than the front hall, but just as magnificent. It was a glowing amber color, because it was lighted by hundreds of floating candles. There was a walkway down the center of the room and on either side of it there were identical seas of black robes, wrapped around students. And at the far end of the hall, a high table was stationed.

--

Professor Snape stalked forward. And the mass of first years followed. The first thing Margaret noticed was the ceiling. When she had looked up at it, wanting to see the famous sight, she didn't see it at first. The ceiling was missing. Well, it wasn't really. The sky was in its place. The stars had turned brighter in the black sky. Dark bluish gray clouds were moving in, tiny little wisps of fluff that they were.

Beside her, Morgan brushed her shoulder with her own. Her twin looked up to see the high rafters and found herself looking up at the night's sky instead.

"Whoa," Morgan breathed. "That. Is. So. Cool."

Margaret rolled her eyes at the understatement. It was more than just cool. It was beautiful, it was magic.

Professor Snape stopped suddenly. No one bumped into him, as they had Professor Hagrid. It would be an action most regrettable, Margaret was sure. Professor Snape ordered the first years into a line, backs to the high table and facing the great mass of older students.

There was an old, wooden stool positioned in front of them and a ratty old hat was sitting on top of it. Everyone in the Great Hall was staring at it, waiting. Professor Snape stood off to the side; a long scroll was clutched tight in his fist. He, too, was staring over at the hat.

There was a great resounding rip and the dusty old hat began to sing.

It was singing! The hat was singing! How on Earth a hat could sing, Morgan wondered. Well, duh! Magic. But it was still amazing. The tear that had been mended near the brim had become the mouth. And the leather-like folds near the point were now like dark eyes. Morgan was snapped out of the show by the thunderous applause coming from every direction.

_Hogwarts School of Magic_

_Has tales both sweet and tragic._

_Not long ago,_

_In these very halls,_

_All within were divided._

_But I do hope_

_You all have learned,_

_We are better off united._

_Gryffindors are brave and valiant_

_And cannot bear to hide it._

_Slytherins are determined and sly_

_And mysterious too, oh my._

_Honorable and devoted are those,_

_The ones that Hufflepuff chose._

_Those who were sharp and clever_

_Ravenclaw did prefer._

_Friends you can find in each._

_Lines or boundaries you can breach._

_Don't hesitate._

_Please do make haste._

_For troubled times_

_Are brewing._

_And making enemies_

_Could be your undoing._

_Just sit down._

_Wear me as a crown._

_Let me meddle in your mind._

_I promise to be kind._

_I know your mind and your heart._

_Let the ceremony start._

Morgan had been so bewitched by the animated clothing that she heard absolutely nothing of the song. Margaret, however, did. She leaned over towards Morgan and whispered, "Did you ever think you'd get advice from a hat?" Morgan had no idea what Margaret had meant but she shook her head anyway.

Professor Snape cleared his throat and glared menacingly out into the crowd until every person had stopped clapping and was sitting quietly. He spoke, even more loudly and sternly than he had out on the staircase.

"You will now be sorted. When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and I will put the Sorting Hat on your head. When it announces your House, go and sit at the appropriate table."

He might as well have said, "Shove off," it would have sounded exactly the same.

The first years were all getting nervous. The Sorting Hat would chose where they would go. Was it a test? What if the hat didn't fit? What if it was too small? Too big? Would they fail? Would they not be sorted? Would they be sent home, without learning any magic?

"Anderson, Aeryn." Professor Snape declared. A blonde pigtailed girl jumped at the sound of her name. She was eight people away from Morgan. The whole line of students leaned forward and stared at the girl. All of them gave her frightened looks of sympathy. It was tough luck that, going first.

Aeryn Anderson's face was turning red. She started forward and nearly tripped. Beside Morgan, Margaret sucked in a breath.

Aeryn pulled herself up onto the stool. All the first years could tell she was shaking. And though they denied, they would be shaking too, come their turns. Professor Snape approached from Aeryn's left and lifted the Sorting Hat up to place it on her head.

Every student in the room watched Aeryn with bated breath. Aeryn, half her head disappearing into the hat, was sitting ramrod straight. Her pale blue eyes darted back and forth rapidly and every second or so her head would twitch. Nearly a full minute of silence passed before the hat screamed out, "SLYTHERIN."

The table to the far right burst into cheers and whooping. Aeryn hopped off the stool and bounded over towards her new housemates. Even Professor Snape gave that hint of a smile again, before glaring down at the scroll in front of him.

"Andes, Franklin."

This time it was a boy. He had long black hair and tanned skin. He had dark, little eyes, too. He was on the short side. And when he tried to hoist himself up on the stool, it took him a few tries.

Professor Snape set the Sorting Hat on Franklin's head. Like, Aeryn, Franklin's head moved around a lot as he sat on the stool. In half the time it took to sort Aeryn, the Sorting bellowed, "RAVENCLAW." This time the second table from the left erupted in enthusiasm. Franklin ran off to join them. Professor Snape allowed very little time for celebration before moving on to the next name.

--

Morgan couldn't be bothered with paying attention to everyone as they were sorted. She was sure they were only on the M's. She hoped. Behind her, the professors were seated.

She spotted Hagrid first. He was on the right side of the table, taking up more than twice the amount of space as anyone else. Morgan liked Hagrid. She could tell that they would friends no matter what. He knew about all magical creatures. So, he would know about dragons. Wouldn't he? He had to.

Hagrid must have felt Morgan staring at him, because he turned from watching the ceremony to look at her. Morgan smiled over at Hagrid and gave a brief wave, which the giant man returned.

Next to Hagrid, on his left, sat a man with black hair and matching eyebrows. His hair was incredibly messy and sat on his head in curved spikes, like horns. Even though he was sitting, Morgan could tell he was shorter than Professor Snape. He wasn't nearly as thin, though. He wore round, black framed glasses and dark emerald robes. The robes matched his eyes nearly perfectly. The man appeared bored. He was hunched over the table, leaning to the side; half of his face was smushed into his hand. His eyes were opened, but severely glazed over. Morgan knew, without a doubt, that the green eyed, black haired man was James' father; Mr. Harry Potter.

On Hagrid's right, sat a shabbily dressed man, followed by three ladies. The man had short shaggy, sandy colored hair and a stubbly beard. He had warm, golden brown eyes and a curved tilt to his mouth. He looked like he had been attacked this morning and hadn't bothered to do anything about it, now.

The lady closest to Hagrid and the shabby wizard wore long, shimmering violet colored robes. She was the only black professor. She had a long, lean face, and lots of kinkily curled black hair, sprouting from underneath her tall witch's hat.

Beside her sat a fierce looking witch, with a white and gray streaked pixie cut. Her nose was small and skinny, like her mouth. She didn't wear a hat and her robes clung to her, like a second skin. They weren't revealing they looked like they would function as a skydiving suit; wind resistant.

The last lady at this side of the table wore robes of a deep celestial blue and they were dotted with tiny yellowish white stars. Looking closely, Morgan could make out the constellation Orion on the woman's side. She had a round, pale face, like she didn't get enough sunlight, much like Professor Snape. Morgan couldn't really see any of her features as she was staring down at what looked like a chart of some sort. She was tracing lines with a long finger, and shaking her head every so often.

On Harry Potter's left, a tall, olive skinned man, sat upright. He had long black hair and round gray eyes. He was grinning like a mad man, beaming out over the table at all the students. His robes were a plain black, expensive; Morgan was sure, but plain. Like the shabby man, it appeared he hadn't shaved in a day or so. Whatever he taught, Morgan knew she would like. This was nearly bursting with enthusiasm and fun, and there was something else. It was in his grin. It was an ecstatic grin. It was a slightly mischievous grin, the same Morgan had whenever she had a plan to trick an opponent out on the football pitch.

The most severe looking woman Morgan had ever laid her large brown eyes on sat at the center position of the table. Her hair, which was completely gray, was pulled back into a tight unforgiving bun. She wore square spectacles, perched on the edge of her nose. She was tight lipped and rigid and shooting the grinning man glares everyone once in a while.

Next to the angry woman, was an empty chair, obviously awaiting Professor Snape.

Then there was a young woman. She had yellow blonde hair cut down to her chin. Big blue eyes stared out from behind thick blond lashes. She was watching the sorting ceremony with rapt attention. A small smile tugged the edges of her lips whenever Professor Snape announced another name. The smile, as small as it was, moved the tiny little beauty mark she had over her lip on the right side of her face.

Two men came next. They could have been brothers, Morgan thought. But there were subtle differences among all their similarities. They were both blonde with light colored eyes. They were within an inch of each other and athletically built. But the one closest to the blonde woman had shorter hair and softer features. The other had a pointy face, almost ferret like.

The last two professors at the table were women. The first was a tall, gangly lady. She had shaved her hair completely off. She had silver wire framed glasses and clear blue eyes beneath them. Her robes were brown, with silver clasps. She also wore long dangling earrings, which looked suspiciously like screwdrivers.

The last woman was a plump woman, round and rosy. She had curly gray hair beneath her hat and her hands were clasped around her middle. She wore forest colored robes. If Morgan wasn't mistaken, she appeared to be asleep, a root of some sort clutched in her hand.

--

"Potter, James."

Morgan whipped around to face forwards again. Nearly every drooping head shot up and eyes opened wide. Those sitting near the back of the room stood up in their seats or craned their necks in order to see.

Beside her, James stepped calmly forward. He approached the stool and slid up onto it. His feet were far off the ground and his brown eyes became wide with anticipation as Professor Snape held the Sorting Hat high above his head.

He lowered the hat slowly, as if in slow motion. When the very brim of the hat touched the edges of James' hair the hat pulled its rim upwards and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR".

The table that was obviously Gryffindor began screaming and jumping up and down. They were clapping and stomping. Chants of "We've got Potter" rang out.

Behind the six remaining first years, Mr. Harry Potter was applauding politely, all the while adopting the maniacal grin of the man beside him.

--

"Weasley, Braden."

For the second time that evening, the Great Hall went silent. Margaret knew that everyone was anxious to see where Braden went, because he was the son of two extremely famous people, as was James. Margaret knew that Braden's older sister and older cousins must have gotten the same awe-inspiring treatment as they were sorted.

Braden steadied himself with a deep breath before he went forward. When Braden sat on the stool, his feet were nearly brushing the ground, unlike every other first year's. Professor Snape dropped the hat onto Braden's head. Braden sat perfectly still for a few moments, then he relaxed and the hat bellowed out, "GRYFINDOR".

The shouting and applauding was not as loud or prolonged as it was for James, but even still it lasted for a great while. Professor Snape was quite unsuccessful in reining in the celebration. The Gryffindors had received fewer new students than any other house, and now that they had both James Potter and Braden Weasley, they were celebrating as if they had been the only house to have any new students.

Beside her, Morgan reached over the tiny space between them and grasped her hand.

"It's just us, now," Morgan whispered to her.

Margaret looked around. And sure enough they were the last of the first years to be sorted. Margaret had felt fine all day, but with the realization that she would soon be sorted, with everyone watching her. She felt sick. Without meaning to, she squeezed Morgan's hand. She was sweating now, breathing hard and fast, her stomach ached terribly.

"Wood, Margaret."

--

Margaret wasn't moving. The grips she had on Morgan's hand tightened. Morgan looked over at Margaret. Her twin was obviously nervous; something Morgan hadn't been a witness too since the first day of grammar school.

Professor Snape cleared his throat and glared at Morgan with a steely glint to his eye. It wasn't as if it was Morgan's fault that Margaret was acting like a loon. She tried to pry Morgan's fingers from her own. They might as well have been glued together.

"Morgan. Let go of me. It's your turn." Morgan hissed. "Don't be such a baby."

It wasn't perhaps the best thing to say, or the right time, but it certainly got Margaret moving. She stumbled her way forward and sat up on the stool. Professor Snape wasted no time and immediately plonked the hat on Margaret's wavy brown hair.

Seeing Margaret sweat in fear, made Morgan feel awful. She knew it had half to do with their twin empathy and shared experiences, but the other half had to do with what she had said. Morgan wasn't the apologetic type, but it didn't mean she didn't feel guilty for the things she said to her sister sometimes. It was especially hard to deal with when Margaret took what Morgan said to heart, even if she didn't mean for her to. And lately, Morgan had been saying quite a bit of things she didn't mean; the 'baby' comment was the least of it.

A shout of "GRYFINDOR", startled Morgan from her reverie.

When the applause died down and the Gryffindors were seated, Morgan was already by the Sorting Hat's stool.

"Wood, Morgan."

Professor Snape glanced over to where he last saw Morgan, an attempt to send a silent warning that she had better hurry it along. He looked around in wonderment, before he found her already sitting on the stool. He frowned down at her half smile. She was a cheeky little kid, wasn't she?

The Sorting Hat fell over her head and half hid her eyes. She could now look out at the other students without worry of them knowing she was watching them. Well, that was the plan, anyway. The Sorting Hat had other ideas.

_Ahh, yes, your sister mentioned you. Let me see. Where to put Morgan Wood?_

Morgan wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. Wouldn't she be with Margaret? But the Sorting Hat sounded as if it wasn't sure she would be with her sister.

_You are smart, yes. Not quite as much as others, but above average. And you have cunning and drive, but Slytherin isn't for you. _

Morgan was glad for that. She shot a quick glance to the Slytherin table. They looked like a grumpy evil sort, Professor Snape's cup of tea. And she was a little miffed that the hat had said her intelligence was only 'above average'. It was true, but she didn't need a hat to point it out to her.

_You have a fierce loyalty to offer, but you tend to demand something in return. Oh, but what's this. A very strong willed determination to do what's right. Adventurous, mischievous, even. I can tell that you, Morgan Wood, would go to any lengths to save those in great need of it. There is only one place to put you. "_GRYFFINDOR!"

Morgan hopped off the stool, snatched the hat off, and shoved it into Professor Snape's waiting hands. She was far too excited to see Snape's scowl or listen to the cheering and applauding of her new housemates. She slid into a seat, between Braden and a boy she didn't know and across from James, Margaret, and two new girls who had been sorted with the As and Bs.

The severe looking woman at the center of the high table stood up as Professor Snape sat down. The chattering and whispering tapered off as the woman got everyone's attention.

"I'd like to take this time to welcome our new students to Hogwarts. As they are new, I want for all our returning students, to remind them of our school rules. Here is the first reminder for you all." The woman took a deep breath, signaling that the list of rules was probably very long.

"The castle is your home and you should treat it as such. It is also your school, so you are expected to go to classes prepared for your lessons with homework completed. Excellence in any number of things will earn you house points, while disobedience and disruptiveness will lose you house points. At the end of the school year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup."

"The forest at the edge of the grounds is strictly forbidden to all students unless accompanied by a professor for a school lesson. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch," The woman raised her hand towards the back of the room. An old, scraggly man with a permanent grimace on his face stood up. A fluffy, equally scraggly gold and brown cat wound itself around Mr. Filch's legs. "has graciously extended the list of forbidden items to include the thirteen new products of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes and the six from Zonko's. This, of course, means that the list now contains one thousand and eleven items. The complete list can be viewed outside Mr. Filch's office."

The woman went on for quite a while about the rules. Before she got to the part that everyone was waiting for.

"Tuck in."

The food materialized on the tables in heaping mounds. There were sizzling plates of lamb chops and pork chops, beef casserole, roast beef, roasted chicken. Steaming dishes of shepherd's pie, boiled potatoes, peas, and carrots lined the far side of the table, in front of Margaret and James. Saucers of butter were spread out all down the table, as were pitchers of gravy. Towers of ice cream nearly toppled in their bowls and castles made of éclairs and tarts were littered throughout.

--

Morgan had never felt so full in her life. She doubted very much that she could make it up to the dorms tonight. But she was trying. At the moment the eight Gryffindor first years were following Braden and James' prefect cousin, Francine Weasley, up to Gryffindor Tower.

It was taking longer than Frankie expected as every staircase they encountered had moved off course, causing the troupe to have to back track over and over again.

When they did reach the entrance, Frankie stopped them all by holding out an arm, catching Braden and a boy Morgan hadn't been introduced to, in the stomachs. Frankie was waiting for something. The portrait of a very large lady was gazing out at them all, speculatively. She looked up at Frankie and asked, "Password?"

The prefect turned on the first years, her eyes hardened into daggers.

"I'm going to tell the fat lady the password, which you would do well to remember. If I find out that any one of you has told the password to any other student not in Gryffindor, you'll regret it," Frankie told them, her voice dripping with malice.

"What-what are you going to do," one of the boys asked. His voice wavered and his eyes were wide.

"First, I'm going to change the password so fast, it'll give you whiplash. Then, if that doesn't send you to the hospital wing for a week, I'm going to staple your lips shut, to ensure that you won't ever tell the password to anyone."

The wide eyed, tawny haired boy gulped and raised a hand to his throat. Frankie spun around and told the Fat Lady, "Pididdle". There was a silent pause, before the Fat Lady's portrait swung open to reveal a slight incline.

Frankie walked in first and the new students followed.

The room they now stood in was a huge circle. Near the windows on the right, six four person tables were situated, with red cushioned high-back chairs. The back wall, which had another staircase, was covered numerous moving photographs of Gryffindor alumni. The wall to the left had an enormous fireplace surrounded by golden arm chairs and crimson loveseats. The circular rug in the center of the room was braided with cords of burgundy, gold, and black. It stretched to four of the six tables by the window and nearly to the hearth, where a roaring fire burned.

Frankie turned on the eight of them once more, causing them all to shrink back in terror. "Right, well, boys your dorm is up the stairs and to the left; girls, it's the same on your right. Breakfast begins at seven-thirty. Don't be late; you'll want your class schedule. Have a good night."

Frankie flounced herself up the stairs and disappeared into the Girls' side of the dormitory.

A black haired boy turned to Braden and James, "Is she always like that?"

Braden and James exchanged a look.

"Ever since she hit thirteen," Braden answered, "Cassie's pretty much the same way".

--

Upstairs, the circular room, the girls would sleep in contained four beds, stationed around a potbelly stove. Each had gold embroidered crimson hangings that could be pulled around to close off each bed from the rest of the room.

Their Hogwarts trunks had been brought up and placed at the foot of the beds. Margaret's trunk was nearest to the door on the left. Between Margaret's bed and the exit was another door, which when opened, revealed the bathroom.

Morgan's bed was second from the right. A single bed separated Morgan from her twin. Not that she minded or anything. She just wasn't going to be the one to make a fuss about it. No siree. Not Morgan Wood. No way.

The other two girls had gone to their beds and had begun to retrieve their bedding and personal items. The first girl, with a bed across from Margaret's, nearest the exit, was tall and willowy. She had coffee au lait colored skin and long straight black hair. Her eyes were large, round, framed by thick black lashes and were an eerily dark brown, nearly black.

"Disidora Berkeley." The girl had introduced herself as, over dinner. She had told them all to call her 'Disi' (Dizzy). The other girl had an odd name too. Elysia Andrews.

Elysia was not tall or willowy. She didn't have black eyes. She didn't have brown curls like the twins either. She was shorter than the twins, rounder too, like James. Her hair was blonde, sunshine yellow. It probably hadn't ever been cut before. It reached well beyond her bottom, but Elysia had explained that she hardly ever wore down. Not even when she slept. Her eyes were a blue, like the pictures taken of the bottom of the ocean.

Margaret arrived at Morgan's side and together they opened Morgan's trunk and removed their individual bedding. Margaret's bedding consisted of pastel purples and greens, with frills on the edges. Morgan's consisted of royal blues and flannels.

After struggling to make their beds, Morgan ventured over to Margaret and her trunk. Opening, that one, the twins began removing Morgan's uniforms and casual clothes, pile by pile.

Then, all four of the girls took turns using the bathroom and changing into their pajamas. After everyone's hair was combed, teeth were brushed, showers were had, and pajamas were donned, the girls said good night and blew out the candles that lit the room.

None of them were awake to see the house elves pop in. Nor did they hear their trunks opening. Nor did they witness the creatures magicking their school ties to have crimson and gold stripes, or the similar magic placed on the hems of their skirts and sweaters. And certainly none of them noticed that their black robes now had the Gryffindor crest emblazoned below the shoulder above their hearts.

--

At breakfast the morning of the first day of classes, Morgan found herself sitting with the boys. Elysia and Disi sat with Margaret. The two boys Morgan hadn't been properly introduced to the night before were named Elliot Kluckhorn and Melvinius Haines the Third.

Elliot was the tawny haired boy who had been most frightened by Frankie the Enforcer (as the first years would be prone to her later in the year). He was just as tall as Morgan. And from the way he spoke in casual conversation, he was probably just as smart Margaret.

Melvinius had black hair that curled under his ears and hazel colored eyes buried under thick eyebrows. He thought he was the greatest thing since the Firebolt series (according to Braden, who didn't seem to think the world of Mr. Haines the third).

Breakfast was a feast only slightly smaller than dinner last night. Plump sausages and scrambled eggs made their way onto Morgan's plate. Margaret managed to place two slices of toast on the side when she wasn't looking.

--

This is how it would be for the next few years. Morgan would sit with the boys during meals and for most of their classes. She would run around outside near the Quidditch pitch and down by the lake with James and Braden. She would finish her homework with them, find odd moments in the hallways to talk Quidditch, they would sit near the common room ire and play Gobstones or Chess. And Margaret would constantly worry when Morgan would come back to the dorm late from exploring the couples and the grounds with her new friends. Only then or in the early morning would Morgan sit down to discuss what to write in the weekly letters home with Margaret. Every once in a while she would inquire about the days of Elysia and Disi to be polite.

--

Professor Snape glided over to the Gryffindor first years from the Ravenclaw table. Morgan was not surprised to note the sneer seemed to be ready so early in the morning. He was holding several stacks of parchment charts.

Melvinius was sitting completely erect, knowing that Snape was standing directly behind him. Professor Snape gave a creepy impish smile before allowing on large stack to drop in front of Melvinius' empty place setting, causing the brunette to jump.

"The first year schedules are on top, followed by the second. Individual schedules for third through seventh year are in alphabetical order. Don't be late."

Snape glided away and left Melvinius to fend for himself as all the rest of the Gryffindors stampeded toward him to get there itineraries.

--

The Charms Classroom was on the third floor. There were two staggered benches on either side of the room. Cathedral windows were stationed opposite the entry way, behind the Professor's desk.

Margaret and Elliot found sat front row center of the left side of the room. Elysia and Disidora sat with Melvinius in the front row, but all the way to the very end, closest to the door. And Morgan sat between Braden and James behind Margaret in the second tier.

They were sharing this class with the nine students in Hufflepuff, all of whom sat on the right side of the room.

The Professor was the blonde haired, blue eyed woman who had sat next to Professor Snape for the better part of the evening. Today she was wearing deep purple colored robes and sipping a mug of steaming coffee. She leaned back against the front of her desk, and gazed out at them all.

"Good morning, all. I'm Professor Zaas." The woman paused, taking another quick sip from her mug and smiling into its rim.

James turned quickly to Morgan and Braden and mouthed, 'Professor's ass'? Braden snickered out loud.

Professor Zaas coughed, calling all the attention back to her. She set her mug on her desk and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I see some of you got the pun," she smiled.

"Is that your real name," Morgan asked.

"Yes. I blame my father for it," Professor Zaas was still smiling, including the class in the joke. "I would allow you all to call me Eleanor, but Headmistress McGonagall frowns down on that."

The students exchanged smiles with one another, enjoying the small dig at their strict Headmistress.

"Enough small talk," Professor Zaas exclaimed. "Let me see who's here and then we'll get down to the nitty gritty that is Charms."

The rest of the lesson was much the same way. Jokes and smiles and giggles. Professor Zaas even grinned in amusement when a Hufflepuff student by the name of Olivia Hotchkiss managed to turn her feather into a tropical drink, though she meant to make it levitate.

"It was a wonderful attempt Miss Hotchkiss, but try saying 'Wingardium Leviosa', not 'Mimosa'."

By the end of the period, almost all of the students had floated their feathers to ceiling. James and Morgan had at least gotten theirs to race four inches above the tabletop. When Professor Zaas had asked for them all to levitate their feathers at once, only Olivia had a hard time. This time she was saying 'Lepriosa', causing all the stands to fall off the center.

--

After Charms, the Gryffindors walked down to the first floor to meet the Ravenclaws for Defense Against the Dark Arts. This classroom had individual desks, four rows with five desks in each. The Professor, Professor Lupin, wasn't in the room yet.

Bookcases lined the walls on wither side of the door, and all along the rest of the room were tanks of tiny animals and jars of petrified specimens. A long, winding skeleton of something was hanging high above their heads. There were two staircases that led to a closed door, probably an office.

Once again, Margaret and Elliot sat in the front of the room. Melvinius sat behind Elliot, splitting up two of the three girls from Ravenclaw. James sat in between Braden and Morgan in the second row. Disi and Elysia sat in the fourth row as far from the front as they could manage. Behind Morgan, in the third row, sat the four Ravenclaw boys.

Professor Lupin walked into the room, calmly. He bounded to the front of the room and picked up a piece of parchment from his desk. He scanned the list, then the classroom, counting names and heads. Satisfied, he paced through the aisles, hands folded behind his back.

"In Defense Against the Dark Arts you will learn how to recognize hexes, curses, and other harmful spells. You will learn how to cast some of them, but only to help you recognize them. Mainly, you will learn how to protect yourself and others from danger. This class is to be taken very seriously because the threat of Dark Arts has been, is, and will be a constant in our lives."

He stood over to the far left of the room, leaning his back against the wall of windows, gazing solemnly out at them all.

"This class will not be entirely doom and gloom and knuckle whacking. I do promise that we will have some fun. Now, on your feet!"

Everyone shot up out of their seats. More than one chair fell over onto the ground, and their former occupants reached down immediately to pick them up.

"We'll start with a relatively simple charm that can be used as protection against almost every hex and curse. To cast it you simply draw a large circle with your wand and pull it towards you. At the same time of your conjuring, you must say 'Protego'. Once you have finished speaking it, as with most spells, you must think what it is you want the spell to do; protect."

The first years stood absolutely still, listening with rapt attention.

"I'll show you how first."

Professor Lupin moved to the front of his desk. He drew himself up to his full height and pulled his wand from his robe sleeve. He started his circle high, declared 'Protego' in a firm voice, and finished the spell by dragging the glowing blue orb towards him at wand point. The blue outline of the circle shimmered briefly before filling itself in completely so that it looked like a solid shield. Professor Lupin held his spell steady for a few moments, before allowing his wand hand to relax. The action allowed his protection to disappear.

"Now, let's move the desks, and let you try it."

There was a great scrambling in the room, as the first years started pushing desks and chairs to the sides of the room all at once.

--

After lunch, the first year Gryffindors found themselves downstairs in the dungeons for a double session of potions with the first year Slytherins. The students arrived earlier than their Professor, Snape, so they chose their own seats.

Unlike before, when the students separated themselves by houses (like in Charms) because they wanted to sit with members of the same house, this time they separated themselves because they didn't want to sit next to anyone of the opposite house.

There were ten tables that had places for two people each throughout the room. The eight new Gryffindors quickly found seats together. Braden sat with James. Elliot and Melvinius sat beside them. Morgan sat next to her sister in front of the boys. Disi and Elysia sat next to them.

The Slytherins sat as close to the front as they could manage. The Asian girl, who had been splattered with goo by Peeves the night before, sat next to girls with short brown hair and narrowed eyes. The brunette sat perfectly upright with her arms crossed on the table. She had terribly crooked teeth and tended to clench her lips together over them, tightly. Aeryn Anderson had taken out her pigtails and opted to wear her hair down, behind her ears. She sat next to another blonde. Aeryn's table mate had large round eyes and a tiny nose. She looked perfectly normal and nice, but everyone knew that you couldn't allow how nice a Slytherin looked sway you from the knowledge that they were all probably just waiting for a chance to take advantage of you.

None of the Slytherin boys had blonde hair. The two that sat on the other side of the twins both had brown hair. One of them was built like a house, short, large and square. His arms were thick and long. The other was the first's complete opposite. He was skinny as a pole, and taller than even Braden was. His nose was even long and skinny as was his face. The second pair looked much like the brunette girl. The black haired boy had his eyes narrowed and his lips, though not clenched, were set into a thin frown. His table mate, a short brunette boy, looked as if he'd rather be asleep than in class. He didn't frown nor did he look particularly friendly.

Pickled animal parts floated in glass jars all along the two side walls. The back wall, which had the door, had two tables without chairs for display items. And the front wall was partially hidden behind a giant black chalkboard. The other side had another display table and a wide teacher's desk. It was colder down in the dungeons than in any other part of the castle, and it was darker too, despite the numerous wall lanterns.

Professor Snape threw open the class door so forcefully, it buckled back after it hit the wall. He strode in quickly, taking long and precise steps. His long black robe billowed behind him, floating on its own wind. He used his wand to slam the door closed and to turn up the lanterns to shine brighter. When he reached the front of them room he spun on his heel, causing the entire first row to shrink back slightly.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke firmly, but softly. His narrowed angry gaze made every student extra careful to catch his every word under penalty of something awful. He managed to keep the class silent without ever having to ask for it. "As there is little foolish wand-waving in here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

No one spoke after Snape's speech at all. Not one word passed from the first year's lips for the two hour double Potions sessions. They took so many notes so fast that several students hands had started to blur before their eyes. They read pages and pages on how to properly use their equipment. By the end of the lesson, the Gryffindors were finding shapes on their ink stained hands or counting who had the most paper cuts.

They hoped the next day would be better, but none of them got their hopes up just in case it turned out to be worse.

* * *

AN:

Okay so this is Chapter 6. It's about time. I know, I know. From now on, they'll be no promises on when things will be posted. Just know that I'm not planning to put this story on hold at all.

Next time: Chapter 7: We hear from the Aurors and our bad guy. It most likely won't be anywhere near as long as this. Then it'll be back to the twins… the first flying lesson and the other classes as well as the first full confrontation between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Onto review responses.

**Charmedbaby11:** Here you go. Not as soon as it probably could have been. Keep Reading and Reviewing

**Joe and Izzy: **Planning and writing are getting easier. I hope you like this Chapter. Thanks for your review.


	8. Sooner, Better, Stronger, Weaker

Read the Disclaimer at the very beginning of this story and the previous Chapter (6) Sorting and Ensnaring to get up to speed.

* * *

**Words:** ? (See AN: at bottom) **Pages:** ?(See AN: at bottom)

* * *

Chapter7: Sooner, Better, Stronger, Weaker

_Monday, September 30th_

Auror Artemis Bettlebog was a very old woman by Ministry worker standards. But then again the average age of the average worker for Britain's Ministry of Magic was only 41 years old. Artemis hadn't been forty-one in a very very long time. It was rumoured that the former Minister of Magic had once suggested to Artemis that she consider retirement. It was also rumoured that as a result of this suggestion, Artemis Bettlebog made it nearly impossible for the former Minister to sit down comfortably for a week. Just a week after that, a new Ministry rule appreared in the Code Book; the Furnuculus hex was now labelled as a dismissable charge if used in the work place.

Artemis would no more consider retirement than she would consider playing babysitter to a pack of starved Chinese Fireballs. Not that it mattered, because no one metione the 'R' word within 10 meters of Artemis anyway. She was a short and dumpy older woman with frizzy, auburn and gray curls, which were normally snatched back into a low bun at the back of her head. Her robes always seemed too big, and looked like a tent had been draped over her. Despite her unkempt appearance, Artemis was an unshakeable lady.0

Among the younger Aurors, the unshakeable Artemis was something of a legend. She had been an Auror for nearly fifty yeas and had lived through the rise and fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and now the one they called Thad the Skinner.

It was remarkable enough that she had been alive during Voldemort's entire reign, but it was astounding to think that she had been working as an Auror during that time. In the office, there was a long standing joke that Artemis Bettlebog had actually been around during Merlin's time. And not only that but that she had dated the founder of modern wizardry. And though the younger Aurors tried their hardest to keep the jokes between them, they had severly underestimated Artemis and her knowledgeable sources. By far, Artemis' favorite joke was created by her very own partner. "Why was Merlin's beard so white? Because he was once engaged to Artemis."

It wasn't really all that funny after the four hundred and sixty-third time, but Artemis wouldn't begrudge them their fun. It was a much needed pastime in the Auror Department; especially with Thad the Skinner running about. It had been days since his last attack, but that didn't mean things were getting better. People were getting nervous. The more time that went by without any new developement the more frightened the people of Europe became. It probably wouldn't be so bad if they knew his motive, his method of operating, or his plans. But then, Thaddeus Skinner was no idiot. In fact there were several tidbits floating around that Skinner was a criminal mastermind. A gruesome, sociopathic murderer, but a mastermind just the same. At his last attack he had left a message over the bodies of his victims; it was cryptic and disgusting.

The message, which read 'So no army of filth may rise from their blood', is what had Artemis at the office at dawn that morning. The Department had enough information from Skinner's past attacks to know that he thought that Europe was forming an army of nonpurebloods. It was a simple enough conclusion to come to, given that 1) all the victims were non purebloods and 2) the message referred to filth, which everyone knows has never been a term given to purebloods.

So, Skinner feared a non-purblood army. As far as any auror knew there were no plans for a non pureblood army. It was the most ridiculous thing any of them had ever heard. So, there had to be more clues then anyone was seeing. This was a mystery. Artemis hated mysteries. This fact is why Artemis was in the office so early on a Monday morning. She had been thinking about the hidden message within Skinner's attacks for months. And last night she had something of a break through.

Why had Skinner chosen to kill the witches and wizards that he did? What was so special about them? What made them so different from the other thousands of non pureblooded individuals?

So, now, in her office, Artemis had gathered crime scene photos, copies of victim files, and numerous maps of Europe. She had muggle tools, as well, a magnifying glass, a slide rule, and even a compass. She had hit on something good, and as a result she had muddled up her office something awful. Her desk had gone missing underneath piles of parchment documents, her walls were littered with photos, and her personal and vistor's chairs had been overturned long ago. Her hair had exploded out of her bun, so that pieces of it looked electrified surrounding her rounded and wrinkled face. she held the magnifying glass up to one brown eye, enlarging it to the size of a saucer.

That was how Cassius Litefoote, Artemis' partner, found her at Eight A.M. He had burst through her cubicle door, after seeing a large gathering outside her office. They were listening in alarm and curiousity at the grunts and banging emitting from the rooom. Assuming the worst, Cassius held his wand tightly out in front of him, he was poised with a disarming spell on his lips with he kicked in the cubicle door.

Artemis looked up slowly, seemingly undisturbed by the loud and sudden disruption. She peered at her partner through the magnifying glass. "Sweet Merlin!" Cassius gasped out in relief. Behind him, the other Aurors peered over each others' shoulders, trying to see over Cassius' six foot four inch box frame.

"Litefoote! Pull up a chair, I've solved the mystery!" Artemis ordered, then spying the other Aurors being nosy, she shouted, "The rest of you lot better clear out before I prove those Furnuculus rumors to be true." There was a great whirlwind of rushing people and swishing robes. With a scowl and a flick of the wrist, Artemis repaired and reinstalled her cubicle door.

Cassius looked unsteadily at the old woman. Truth be told nothing had ever frightened the massive Cassius, well, nothing that is, except Artemis Bettlebog. Looking around at her disasterous office, it was clear that Artemis had gone insane. He was most certainly not going to sit across from the crazy woman and indulge her in whatever fantasy she was taking part in.

"Sit, Litefoote! We have much to discuss." Artemis stared down the enormous twenty-five year old. When he cautiously lowered himself into a righted chair, she smiled at him.

"What are we discussing?" Cassius asked of his partner.

"Thaddeus Skinner, of course. I've cracked his code."

"His code? What code?"

"I know how he picks his victims, and when and where he's likely to strike next."

"You did what?"

"I. Know. How. Skinner.-" Artemis began again, as if speaking to a child. Cassius rolled his great big brown eyes and cut in.

"No. I mean what did you find and how did you find it?" Cassius eyed Artemis' desk dubiously.

"Skinner and his followers will probably strike in one of these towns next and attack one of these people." Artemis rummaged through the stacks of papers on her desk and handed Cassius two lists. The first was a list of six or so towns and what country they were located in. The second list had names of witches and wizards and where they lived. Cassius noticed that all of the people on the list lived in a town listed on the first piece of parchment.

"Oh yeah? What makes you think that?"

"Well, it was simple really. I tracked Skinner's movements, first" Artemis spread a large map of Europe over desk. "I plotted the points he's already hit; all twelve from the past two years". Sure enough. there were twelve identical black dots hovering over twelve towns from Portugal to Ireland to Norway to Italy to France and back towards Spain. 'Then I checked any similiarities the towns may share."

Cassius looked up from the live action map. "Did you find anything?" Artemis beamed at him, the action putting an optimistic gleam in her eyes.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Cassius leanead forward anxious to hear the news. "Each of these towns is completely void of purebloods. Not only that, but the nearest town with a pureblood resident is exactly 150 kilos away from any one of the places Skinner has attacked."

Cassius stared at Artemis in utter confusion.

"You've lost me."

"Alright, well, we know that Skinner fears a non pureblood army, yes?" Cassius nodded in agreement.It was a ridiculous notion but an undeniable one at least. "And we know that all the victims so far have been 3/4 blood or less. But I wanted to know what was so special about these victims. All of them were very prominent figures in their towns, with a great deal of influence. And furthermore, accorindg to the International Ministy's yearly census, (Did you know those things still ask for your blood status?) there wasn't a single pureblood resident in those towns. It got me thinking, you know, about why it would bother Skinner so much that these people had so much power."

"Yeah." Cassius egged.

"Obviously if he thinks there' a non pureblood army rising in Europe, then it wouldn't be a good idea to have a non pureblood witch or wizard influencing the masses, would it?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't. But there must be thousands of towns in Europe without a pureblood resident. There aren't exactly a lot of purebloods left. So, there won't be very many towns with pureblood residents. Which means that there are a lot of towns with only non pureblood residents. How did you narrow it down to these..." Cassius glanced at the first list again, "eight towns."

"Well, I looked for another common factor between the towns." Artemis explained.

"And what did you find?" Cassius inquired.

"That centuries ago, towns with a pureblood family were pretty much run by that family and any town without a pureblood family in it would be run by the nearest pureblood run town."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, this is still true in some form today."

"What?!" Cassius shouted. How on Earth could something so-so- awful, degrading, so backward, still be taking place?

"Sort of, but it's getting better. Take the town of Petitville. The Clapworthy family is the most powerful family in Petitville. They also happen to be purebloods. There are three towns that immediately surround Petitville, none of which have a pureblood resident, all of which conduct business through the Clapworthys. There's town called Vermeil that falls a bit away from Petitville; it doesn't have a pureblood resident, nor does it operate through the Clapworthys. It operates mostly through a series of independent peoples, but mainly through a man named Francois Hugo; a halfblood with a boatload of money."

"Alright?" Cassius acknowledged.

"Vermeil happens to fall exactly 150 kilometers outside Petitville. I've checked out all the twelve towns on the map. No pureblood residents, run mostly by 3/4 blood witches and wizards, and are located exactly 150 kilos from a town that is run by a pureblood or a pureblooded family."

"Alright, so using your method you only found eight other towns in all of Europe who fit your criteria?"

"Well, no." Artemis looked down at the map, as Cassius sighed in impatience.

"Well, go on, then."

"I think I've said already that I've tracked Skinner's movements? Yes?"

'Yes, you have."

"Well, I plotted his murders in order." Artemis traced the towns in order with her wand tip, the partners watched as a red line hovered from one dot to the next. When Artemis finished tracing the line, she pulled her wand back. The red line began pulsing, chasing itself between the dots. It raced from the beginning in Portugal to the end in the Western part of France.

"Sweet Merlin it's a circle!" Cassius cried in awe. The tall, solid black man hunched over the map, watching the red line move.

"Well, almost," Artemis corrected. "To get the possible eight towns, I anticipated the line of objective." This time, Artemis' wand produced a blue line, which connected the last town hit in France (which happened nearly two weeks ago) to the beginning point in Portugal.

Cassius stepped back and viewed the map as a whole.

"Now, I'm going to plot the only towns that fit all the criteria and land within the circle." Artemis' wand shot out two, tiny green orbs, which floated down towards the map and hovered over two towns.

Cassius checked the list and grinned.

"You did it Artie! You cracked the freaking code. Two years of shock and getting to the scene late and you know exactly where he's going next. We've got to tell the boss!"

"There's more, Litefoote." Artemis called to Cassius' back. He turned back around.

"More?" He asked astonished.

"Of, course, Litfoote, you didn't think I'd tell you where and not when do you?"

"You know when?"

"I have an estimate. It wasn't really a far leap."

"Tell me then."

"Every two months. The last one was a few weeks ago and the one before that was in July, right?"

"Yes."

"Right, well I've done the math. Two years, twelve murders, that's six a year, one every two months. I checked the files. The first in Portugal happened in a September, then November, January, etc. So, November should be the next one.

"In Spain," Cassius supplied looking down at the live action map.

"Most likely, yes."

"Most likely?"

"Well, I did give you a longer list, didn't I?"

"Yeah?"

"This is the bad news I'm afraid." Artemis told her partner, quietly. Cassius stared at her for a moment, before settling himself down in the chair he had vacated ages ago.

"Alright, lay it on me," He said, trying to lighten the now somber mood.

"Well, you don't think once Skinner hits Portugal he's just going to stop, do you? I don't." Artemis pointed her wand at the glowing map again. This time six tiny little orbs of yellow floated over towns on the map. They didn't follow any other patern that Cassius could see.

"I don't understand." Cassius admitted.

" I think, if we assume that Skinner will follow a circular pattern, that one of two things will happen. One; he and his followers will go outward." Artemis drew the start of a new line forming off of the blue one. This one connected three of the six dots. It was the beginning of a growing spiral. "If this is the case, my projection will show that within a matter of years, if there is no capture, Skinner will have involved countries in Africa, Eurasia, the Middle East, Asia, and eventually the Americas. Within a few years, he'll have involved the whole world."

Cassius let out a low whistle as he stared at the appearing and disappearing orange line that made up the outside growing spiral.

"Exactly. Possibility two," Artemis waved her wand forcing the orange line to connect the blue line through the other three orbs. This spiral continued through the original near circle, spiralling inward. "is that after a second hit in Portugal, Skinner will continue inward, staying in Europe and murdering in almost every European nation multiple times. As, horrible as it sounds, this is the preferable option. The last thing the International Ministry wants is for Skinner to involve every Foreign Ministry in the world. They're having enough trouble as it is with the European Division."

"So, unless we catch this psycho soon, it'll be bad either way?" Cassius put out, now glarig at the orange line.

"Well, yes, both possiblities are bad, but one can definitely be considered worse than the other."

Cassius waved his wand over the huge map, causing the glowing dots and lines to disappear as the parchment rolled itself up into a scroll. He pushed himself up from the uncomfortable chair, placed the town list and name list that Artemis had given him into his robe pocket, and motioned to Artemis.

"There's an hour before lunch," he told his aged partner, "grab your files, and lets go try and beat these theories into the boss man's head, shall we?"

Artemis levitated the files she would need with a swish and flick of her wand.

"The sooner, the better." She replied, applying the phrase to much more than just the boss man's head.

* * *

He was weak. That was how he saw himself. A weak man with a weak stomach. He wanted to be stronger, so much stronger.

That was how he saw the world. In terms of weak and strong.

Purebloods were strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. They were strong. If his father had taught him anything. It was that. Purebloods possessed strength, strength meant power, power meant you were the best, so obviously, by this reasoning Purebloods were the best.

Non Purebloods were weak, it would only stand to reason. If the opposite of Pureblood was Non Pureblood and the opposite of strength was weakness then it made sense that Non Purebloods were weak in his eyes.

When he was young, he could remember his father complaining almost daily about the uprising of the Non Pureblood population. How the filth was infesting their noble streets and infecting their pristine air. They were an army of ants at the picnic; ruining everything. They had to be stopped.

It was one of the few things he remebered of his childhood. It was conversations like that, the constant beatings, the tauntings by his schoolmates, and the greates discovery anyone had ever made.

It was that discovery made at Hogwarts in his fifth year that had led him on the path he was on today.

The discovery told him how to rid the world of the filth and make him strong.

He vomited again.

He wasn't strong yet... but he would be... soon.

* * *

AN:

The second part is Thaddeus skinner's POV

So here's number 7... I think it's my best so far.

Sorry it's been awhile. Tell me what you think...

I've had papers, exams, and my computer broke. So this was all typed in the last ten hours on a wicked old box... which is why i don't know how many words or pages this has.

ick... i hate excuses but there it is...

again next time should have the rest of the first year classes, the first flying lesson and the first confrontation between the red and green.

READ and REVIEW

Love YA

Cheers!


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